Puppy Love (part 1 of 2)

by Allen Baker

The ad began: "Applications being accepted for a puppy for permanent ownership. Applicants must be willing to relocate and undergo modifications. . . ." It was signed "Kennel Master".

By the time I finished reading it the second time, my hands were shaking violently. Not out of fear. Out of excitement.

For years I had fantasized about having a permanent master. Week-end excursions into dog life only whetted my appetite for more. Oh, to have a man of my own! To fetch his slippers and paper. To eat every meal out of my own dog dish. To have a collar be the only article of apparel that existed for me. To sleep at the foot of his bed. I nearly swooned at the possibilities.

My abandoned breakfast and coffee sat on the kitchen table as I raced to write out a reply to the ad. Half an hour later, I called in sick. There were crumpled attempts littering the floor around my desk. Nothing I'd tried was compelling enough for a master to choose me from other applicants. I had to stay home and get it just right. In my present state I wouldn't have been worth shit at work anyway.

Out of frustration, I finally stopped writing and paced. I realized I was still nude and jumped into the shower, thinking the stinging spray might refresh and inspire me. Wrong! I prowled the apartment all day, never bothering with clothes, passing the unseen breakfast-strewn table, blathering to myself, rejecting idea after idea. I'd keep stopping at the desk to try again, only to add more scrap to my floor.

Late afternoon, I stopped mid-stride in the hallway. No wonder nothing seemed correct: dogs don't write!

I rushed to my computer. An hour later my printer spat out some made-up forms that would serve my purpose. They purported to be from the dog pound. They'd give all the necessary information as if pulled from a file, not written down by me, the dog.

I took the forms to my desk. The top part of the first page I typed in as if some clerk had formally set up the file folder. Then I grabbed a variety of pens and set about completing the pages. It was fun to imagine myself in a cage in the pound with the vet and his staff describing my appearance, statistics, demeanor, and actions. I changed script size and style with each different pen. It began to take on the appearance of an acquired set of papers. The final notation was a stark statement that if a new owner wasn't found soon, that the poor pooch would have to be put down.

I read and reread it all. It was exactly right, everything was perfect. I laid it all out in a line on the desk. Struck with another idea, I searched through some drawers until a found a bundle of photos. Rummaging through, I finally spotted the one I'd remembered. I was on all fours in a cage, eating from a bowl. I'd attach it to the pages. No! I'd actually make a file folder and staple it on.

I grabbed a folder and typed onto the front, attached the picture, then grabbed the forms and put them in. Something still wasn't right. It was too new, too neat. I dog-eared the edges of the folder. On one of the pages, I spilled some of my breakfast coffee and dried it with a hair dryer. I tore a corner off one page and taped it haphazardly back. Another page I crumpled, then smoothed out again. Then I stapled the bundle into the folder. With a final inspiration, I used an ink pad to fake a paw print onto the front beside the picture. Just right!

I grabbed a mailer and typed on the box address from his ad. I just had to get it into the mail. I actually had the apartment door open before I realized I still hadn't dressed that day.

The days went by slowly. I was distracted at work, under-productive. A co-worker asked if was sick. I pretended spring allergies and sinus headaches. Each day I'd rush home from work to check my mailbox in the small entry vestibule. Disappointed, I'd stare at the TV screen all evening, sometimes not even bothering to turn it on. I was in agony.

When it finally came, it was a small, light envelop, but his return address was on the front. I'm not sure what I expected he'd write, but it said very little. But it said enough. Just one page. At the top it said, "Trial Weekend." Then the dates with arrival time. In the middle was a hand-drawn map and directions. Then at the bottom: "It's isolated. When you arrive, be totally nude. Don't get out of the car." There wasn't even a signature. I still didn't know his name. Kennel Master was enough. If I'd had a tale, it'd have been wagging to beat the band.

____________________________________

Four days later it was Saturday morning, and I was winding through the last section on the map. I'd been erect, rock hard for miles. I'd only worn sandals, runner shorts, and a tank top. I hadn't passed another car for twenty minutes, so I pulled over. I tossed the clothing into the back seat. What a thrill to drive around nude!

I drove into his gravel parking area and turned off my engine. The house was in a clearing with woodland for miles around. Two boxers bounded around the corner of the house, yapping and wagging a welcome. I wanted to get out and meet them, but knew better than to disobey orders. They did push their muzzles through my open window and lapped my face in greeting. The male was the larger and sniffed at my crotch. Then his tongue licked at some pre-cum and I nearly shot my load.

"Whoa, boy. I don't think we'd better start that."

"Dogs don't talk!" It was a stern reprimand.

I had been concentrating on the boxers and hadn't seen him follow them along. I almost said, "Yes, Sir," but stopped myself just in time. Instead I sunk my head and whimpered at having disappointed my master.

"That's better." His voice had softened a bit, and he reached in to pat my head and scratch behind my ears. "Ok, you two. That's enough for now. Off you go." He pointed to the corner of the house and the two playful canine frolicked from sight.

Kennel Master reached in and buckled a collar around my neck. I nearly climaxed when he snapped a padlock on it. He opened the car door and pointed to the ground. In an instant I was on all fours.

"Heel."

He only went two paces before he stopped and pointed to the front wheel of the car. I sniffed it then lifted my leg and relieved myself, marking the territory.

"Good boy." Another pat on the head. "Heel." He headed to the front door.

Inside, he led me to the kitchen. "Thirsty after your trip?" I gave a small yelp and panted.

He opened a cupboard and got out a dog dish, filled it with water at the sink, and sat it on the floor in front of me. He waited patiently for me to lap up some. When I'd had enough, I sat back on my haunches and rubbed my flank appreciatively against his leg. He chuckled and said, "Come on."

He led me into the den and sat in his leather chair. He hit the remote control, and the Saturday game came on. He pointed to the floor beside the chair. "Sit." I did. He watched the game, occasionally reaching over to pat my head or scratch behind an ear. Eventually I laid down, and placed my chin on his boot toe, and dozed as he watched.

He jiggled his boot to rouse me. The game had ended, and the wrap-up commentary was on. I sat up. He flicked off the set and headed to the kitchen. Not having been told to stay, I padded along behind.

He went to the back screen door and held it open. "Time to go out and do your business. You can play with Bitch Lady and Bull Nuts till I call you for supper."

The two boxers were waiting at the bottom of the porch steps. We all sniffed each other. I liked the smell of Bull's crotch much better than BL's snatch. But it was all part of the getting to know and accept each other. They were playful. They nipped and pounced, and we rolled around companionably. Bull squatted to drop a load of shit. Bitch sniffed it, then chomped at a mouthful. I sniffed, too, but that's all. We played again. Then I needed to shit. Bitch sniffed again, but musn't have been tempted. Bull Nuts licked my ass clean for me.

"Food!"

We raced each other for the porch. I was last, of course. On the porch, he'd placed two large bowls. One held water, the other was piled high with canned dog food. The other two chowed down. I inched my head in with theirs. Bull growled a little and received a boot toe in his side. "Get used to it, Bull." The growling was done.

I'd often tried to force myself to eat dog food. I'd really wanted to, but couldn't get past the smell. Now, I had no choice. Kennel Master was standing over us, so there was no way I could fake it. I took a deep breath and plunged ahead. It was awful. I gagged but was able to keep it in my mouth. Nearly retching, with tears streaming down my face, I choked it down. I got a boot in my side, too. "Wrong brand? It's all I buy, mutt." But he sounded slightly amused instead of stern. I chomped down another bite. Then another. He was right: I could get used to it, but I certainly didn't like it.

The three of us lapped the bowl clean and then slurped away at the water. When we finished, I got a pat on the head. "Good boy."

He opened the door and we scampered through. I followed the other two into the den where he joined us. "Well, kids, it's time for fun and games before bed. "He stripped to his well-filled jockeys and joined us on the floor. The four of us tussled and wrestled, yipped and nipped, slobbered and drooled.

Finally he had me on my back. With one hand he placed my feet on his shoulders while he used the other to fish his massive cock out of his underwear. It was a beautiful, thick nine inches. Without further preparation, he buried it up my ass. "Bull, get over here – squat."

Dutifully, the boxer dropped his crotch into my face as he'd obviously been trained to do. "Clean that dog hole and suck on his nuts. He loves that." I tongued and sucked. Bitch licked at my own nuts as master plunged in and out of my ass. "Ok, Bull, off you go." He moved Bitch's cunt over my face. She kept her mouth in my crotch as Bull mounted her form the rear. "Tongue that dog cunt. Suck those canine balls. Lick his cock as it slithers in and out."

I was hot! I grooved on his literary accompaniment. His words heightened the sexy scene. He pounded my ass. "Now, boy, now!" His cock twitched and spat into my ass. I spewed my jism onto Bitch's maw. Bull Nuts wimpered and lived up to his name by flooding Bitch's cunt which squirted out onto my face. I tasted my first dog seed. I fastened my lips to her opening and sucked out their mingled juices. Then we collapsed in a weary heap.

"Wow." It had escaped my lips before I even had a chance to know it happened.

Suddenly, Master erupted form the pile. "Bad dog! Come here." I lowered my head and crawled to his feet. He picked up a switch and plastered my ass with it a dozen times. "Stop your whining!" Then he threw it down and buckled a muzzle onto me. "Now you'll learn better than to do that in this household."

"Bedtime." We scampered along at his heels as he headed down the hall. The boxers curled up quickly into the wicker beds against his footboard. I was on all fours nearby, wagging my rear end, secretly hoping he'd let me curl up beside his feet.

"In here, mutt." He led the way into the bathroom where he dropped his shorts and stood before the commode to take a leak. I rubbed my side against the back of his thighs. He chuckled and rubbed my head. He shook off the last few drops and started the shower. "We're both going in. You stink."

I pounced into the shower stall with him. He soaped and rinsed us both, then sank his rod down my throat. "Hold still, boy." He fucked me good, his balls bouncing against my chin with each lunge. He cried out and fed me my first taste of his sweet cream. He rinsed us again, then turned off the shower.

We got out, and he reached for a towel. I briskly shook myself, spraying rain everywhere.

"Now stop that!" he laughed.

When he had us dry, he opened the door to a walk-in closet. Inside was a small dog cage about two and a half feet on a side. My heart sank.

"I don't let new puppies run free at night. Never know what they'll chew up by morning. In you go."

I contorted myself into the confining space. I could barely fit. Once he locked the cage, I couldn't move an inch.

"Night." He turned the light off and closed the door,

I whimpered a little. It was a long night. By morning, my muscles were cramped and stiff. I had slept some, but didn't really feel rested. Finally, I heard the shower come to life and the clacking of the boxers' nails against the tile floor. Then, at last, the closet door opened.

"Morning, mutt," he said absently as he grabbed clean socks, underwear, and clothing and left again to dress. Bull and Bitch sniffed at me through the cage bars and wolfed a greeting. Master returned, unlocked the cage door, and removed the muzzle. "Time to let you curs out to do your business."

The other two scrambled out the door and down the hall. My muscles screamed in agony as I gently extracted my body from its night's confinement. I whimpered and limped. A non-gentle kick to my backside spurred me on the kitchen door.

Even late spring in the mountains has crisply cool mornings. The grass was misted with frost. I could even occasionally see my breath in the chill air. My exposed genitals pulled in for warmth and made it hard to spray my piss out from under my upraised leg. Soon we were called in for breakfast. This time our canned food had bits of raw liver in it. I managed to under his supervision, but it was doubly difficult with the smell of his bacon and eggs in the air.

When we'd all finished, he led us to the side of the house and turned on the lawn hose. I wondered if this was a daily event. The boxers sure seemed to know the routine well enough. Master sprayed us all down, soaped us all with a stringent anti-flea soap, and rinsed us good in the ice-cold water. We all shook off the excess water, and I shivered on all fours in the late morning air.

"Ok, kids, time to play." He threw sticks for us to fetch. Frisbees, too. Soon, the activity had dried me off and warmed me up. We had fun.

"Enough for now." He motioned for the boxers to run off on their own, "Scoot." When they'd disappeared into the woods, he patted my head. "Come on, boy."

Inside he turned on his TV and inserted a video. I started to curt up beside his feet again, but he patted his thigh. "Here, boy." I jumped and lay across his lap. "Thought you'd enjoy seeing this video of Manfred. He was Bull Nut's pappa."

It was a compilation tape beginning with a puppy so young he was barely walking. Then he became a sleek, agile dog. "Here he is servicing Bull's mom." He rutted over the back of the cowering female. Then there was a shot of him sniffing at a litter of new-born pups. "Even at birth he was Bull Nuts." And it was true you could easily pick out the one pup with over-sized testicles. He had a terrible time learning to walk.

Master had been fast forwarding through most of this. Now he let the video continue at normal pace. "This is my favorite part. When I took Manfred to the vet to be neutered. I cringed, but couldn't look away. He had it all on tape, even his conversation with the vet.

The operation was simple enough and didn't take all that long. It was the discussion of the choice of a method that preceded it that had me whimpering and twitching. I hadn't known there were so many ways to castrate a male. The vet went into excruciating detail on each. Some, like the one finally selected, were quick and relatively painless. Others were slow and intentionally agonizing. I couldn't imagine the pain of having them tied tightly enough to cut off circulation and feeling them slowly die. But some appeared to have neutering secondary to the plain torture and pain. It troubled me that Master had seriously considered some of those.

Finally the video ended, and he clicked off the TV. I could feel his rock hard cock beneath me. He had enjoyed the film – or tormenting me with it.

He gave my ass a swat, "Off you go, boy."

I jumped to the floor and excitedly watched as he stood and stripped out of his shirt and pants. I wagged my ass in anticipation.

"Come on, mutt. Heel." He led the way back to his bedroom and into the bathroom. "Sit." He pointed to a spot just inside the door. He dropped his jockeys and kicked them away, then stood in front of the commode to piss.

I watched his golden stream spout from his cock lips. It was dark yellow and twisted and spattered into the bowl. I whimpered slightly, begging to have that precious liquid on and in me. I was ignored. He flicked the last drops off the end, then sat and opened his newspaper. He sat for a considerable time as he read. Occasionally, I'd witness an exerted effort and a plop in the water beneath him. Finally he folded the newspaper and sat it aside. "Here, boy." He slapped his thigh, and I scampered to him.

He pulled himself up from the seat and turned away from me. "Clean me up, boy, and I'll have a nice reward for you."

I cringed, but leaned into his crack and got my tongue busy licking. It was rank and sloppy stuff, but it came from my master, so I worshiped it. Eventually I had him clean.

He stood up and gave me a pat on the head. He walked into the closet and came back with some sort of leather bondage gear. "Sit up, boy." He kneeled down and took a metal contraption that very tightly fit over my cock and balls. Then he locked it in place.

"That'll keep you from playing with yourself. You won't even be able to get an erection with this on, but you can piss through the slots at the end. Then he strapped a leather harness around me. It fit tightly around my chest and shoulders then clipped to the end of the metal device. Once he had it in place, he tightened the buckles until my genitals were severely stretched away from my crotch. I whimpered and groaned in heavy discomfort as my balls were being crushed inside their pouch.

"On all fours now."

I obeyed and found myself staring into my master's crotch. I sniffed it and stuck out my tongue to take a couple of swipes at it.

"Good boy, get it all slicked up for me."

I did. Then he pulled out of my mouth and walked around behind me. He took a handhold on the shoulder straps of the harness and plunged into me to the pubes. I yelped and loved it. As he plowed my dog cunt, he pulled harder and harder on the harness, stretching the device farther and farther up my belly, torturing my cock and balls more with each passing moment.

He battered my prostate, and I began to ooze without an erection. "I'm about to nut, boy. Go ahead and cum, if you can." Then he plunged one last time to the hilt and shouted his pleasure. His twitching triggered my own climax. My goo rushed up my cock tube and back-washed around my cock and balls in the confined space.

Eventually, he pulled out and stuck a plug up my ass. "Keep it there till you get home. And sleep with it in place every night." I shivered, anticipating sitting the car with that thing stimulating my confined cock with every jolt of the long drive back to the apartment.

He removed the harness and showered me with him. After we were dry, he pulled on some cut offs and headed outside. "Heel."

He led me to my car and opened the door. My spirits dropped, knowing my two days of doghood were at an end. I sat at his feet.

He threw an envelope onto the passenger seat. "Don't open that until you get home." It was an order. "It's an offer to become my permanent dog. Read it carefully, don't make a quick decision. There's no rush. I want you to be sure, because if you return here again there will be no turning back. "Now hop in."

I jumped into the seat. I waited for him to pull out a key and remove the collar and the metal device on my crotch. Instead, he patted my head and scratched behind my ear.

"You wear a dress shirt and tie at work: the collar won't show unless you want it to. And we'll take care of that another time." He slapped my metal crotch as he spoke, and I groaned in pain. He laughed, slammed the car door, and walked away.

Shocked that he hadn't removed the collar and horrified at the thought of wearing the chastity device for an unspecified period, I drove down the road for more than a few miles before I realized I was still nude and would soon be back among traffic. Quickly, I pulled to the side and grabbed the clothes I had flung into the back seat the day before. As I pulled them on, my eyes were drawn to the envelope on the seat. I was tempted to disobey and open it, but resisted.

The crotch of my shorts was tight with the metal bulge. I groaned as I realized it probably would attract more attention at work than the concealed collar.

Finally, the long drive home ended, and I ran up the steps to my apartment. My hand shook slightly as I keyed the lock and hurried inside. Quickly shutting the door, I tore open his envelope and pulled out a couple of neatly typed pages.

"Dear, mutt," it began, "I want to extend the offer of permanent ownership. This is a major decision in your life that cannot be made lightly. It is also an irreversible one that calls for burning all bridges. Therefore, I did not want to propose it while you were here. It was necessary to have you return to your normal life to see what you will be giving up. As you contemplate your choice, the collar will be a constant reminder that you will not have any independence, that you will be owned. The chastity cage will serve to have you experience what it will be like to never again have the opportunity to touch yourself.

"I think it is important for you to make this decision, one step at a time. Therefore, in the mail over the next few days, you will be receiving postings from me with additional information on what the future would hold should you decide to become my permanent pup.

"For now, the question is if you are ready to leave behind all human existence, all normal modes of human contact. Are you ready to stop playing at canine life and actually become a dog. It will involve major physical modification over a period of years. Once done, these changes will be irreparable. Don't make a quick decision as you read this. Just think about it over the next few days, just observe your current life and the implied changes that would occur.

"Never again will you hold a key or a phone. Never again drive a car or jog in the park. You will loose your independence: never again will you be able to open a door or come and go as you please. You'll never send nor receive mail. You'll leave your profession, quit your job. You'll have no money, no bank account, no retirement. Think long and hard before saying yes to this offer.

"In addition, I have written a pledge to you on the included page for your consideration. You should read it carefully as you consider these life-altering decisions."

It wasn't signed. My hands shook, and I sank into a chair. I had dreamed about this for the last three years. But did I want it as a reality or just a fantasy? I realized what a wise man he was to present it this way. Had I been sitting at the foot of his chair, my canine fantasy mode would have given little deliberation to the idea. But would I have regretted it later?

I looked at the second page. It was a pledge of responsibilities and commitment on his part.

"I promise to be a good owner to my dog. I will love him. I will care for his physical needs: food, shelter, health. I will see that he has annual visits to the vet and maintain his yearly shots. I will protect and love him.

"I will also train him to be an obedient animal. I will send him to obedience training camp. He will be taught to willingly submit to my will and will be lovingly punished if not.

"I will arrange and finance all medical modification needed to help my pup achieve his goal to become a mature dog, as I see fit. This may be as minor as foreskin restoration or as major as amputation of limb extremities. At some point, it will almost certainly include neutering.

"While it is possible that someday in the future I might decide to sell my dog, I would never put him into the hands of a mean master. I would also seek signs of approval from my pet before making the sale official. But above all, I promise to love my pet and cultivate his devotion."

It was signed, "Kennel Master, John Jenkins." At last I knew his name, but I hardly gave it a thought. I was trembling so hard, I could scarcely control my bladder. Immediately, I thought how an excited pup dribbles on the floor when his master comes home from work. Thinking that maybe that was a the appropriate response, I deposited piss drippings into my pants and watched as the we spots expanded across the fabric. Was my decision already made?