A lovere of the outdoors gets caught in a thunderstorm and meet with a farm owner who has just lost his do
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My Life as a Dog If you are reading this, it is solely due to the kindness and compassion of Eric, the farm-hand, I have grown very fond of Eric. He fucks me from time to time and I have come to appreciate his for want of better words I must call it lovemaking. I am sure he gets his mouth full, in more ways than one, from my Owner, but he still has not lost his capacity for empathy. He has been supporting me in my wish to tell my story, even at the risk of my Owners uncontrollable fury. Eric has supplied me with scraps of paper and a stump of pencil which I have kept well hidden under the straw that covers the floor of the little hut that is my home. He must have had a hard time interpreting my hand-writing. I hope he has done a good job of it, because I am in no position now to change, or add, anything. It is hard to believe that it was only half a year ago that I was still a free man, and, as a lover of the outdoors, climbing the mountains up north, sleeping under the stars, fishing, breathing the fresh air of the wilderness. One late evening, however, I was caught in a thunderstorm and took refuge in a small barn, seemingly deserted. Some scraps of straw was on the floor, I collected some to make the night more comfortable, got out of my wet clothes and was pulling a dry sweater out of my backpack when I hard footsteps outside. There was nowhere to hide, so I just had to wait for the barn-door to open and the stranger to see me standing there, stark naked. God, was he big. His wet checkered shirt clung to a broad chest with fat nipples, his soaked Levis did nothing to hide the huge basket between his legs, nor did they stop me from seeing that his cock was slowly coming to life behind the wet cloth. So, a stowaway, he said and added I guess you have some rent to pay. So he raped me. He had both my arms secured behind my back in a kind of wrestlers grip. He forced my face to the dirty floor of the barn and shoved his cock right upp my ass. OK, I had some experience of being penetrated, or rather a lot, admittedly, and I usually dont mind playing it rough, but this was something else. His cock was something else. It ripped me apart, I screamed into the thunder of the storm, convinced that noone could hear me. I was trapped. And by the time the guy shot his load up my ass I experienced an odd sexual fulfillment. My ass was sore, my face scratched, and I was frightened out of my wits, but out of my stiff dick the flow of semen seemed never to stop. The guy grabbed my by the shoulders and forced me on my feet. He found a piece of wood and some rope, stuck the branch or whatever it was under my armpits and tied my hands together behind my back. I was too exhausted, too overwhelmed, to put up much resistance, and before I knew it, he tied another piece of rope around my genitals and dragged me out of the barn, his cock still hanging out of his fly. It was still raining, and the water felt cold but oddly soothing to my naked body as I was brought through the woods. After a few minutes, his house appeared, a log-built cabin that seemed to have been there since the beginning of time. Quite close to it there was something that looked like a freshly dug grave. I shivered, and not only from the cold. There was a fire in the fireplace. The man brought the rope he had used to drag me indoors between my buttocks and connected it to the rope that tied my hands. He then forced me down on my knees beside the fireplace and I had no choice but to remain there, looking up at him beggingly as he got out of his clothes and sat down, stark naked, at the dining-table. His cock was stiff again, and, to my amazement, so was mine. Eric, we got ourselves another mouth to feed, he called out, and a shy looking young man appeared, naked but for a rope that was tied around his neck, ran down his chest and was wrapped tightly around his genitals. He carried a bowl of stew, that he put in front of the man. Eric is my farm-hand, he said, and I am Frank, but who the fuck are you? I stated my name and started to explain my presence, but that seemed only to bore him. Eric filled two plates with steaming stew, put one before Frank but instead of serving me, he knelt down in front of Frank and gulped his cock down, the whole length of it. As if unaware, the guy started eating and stopped only to roar with pleasure when he reached his climax. Eric got to his feet, fetched the other plate and put it on the floor in front of me. His unruly brown hair fell into his face but I still noticed a sad but friendly glimpse in his eyes. I suddenly felt hungry and almost fell over, face down the stew, before I regained balance. I had to lap down the food, like a dog, but still warmth started spreading in my abused body. Eric put another log on the fire, Frank announced that tomorrow would be a busy day, and went to bed. Eric left, and I was asleep within seconds, on the floor. I woke up before dawn. Eric was back, preparing coffee. Frank was nowhere to be seen. My mind was too full of questions for me to care about the coffee bowl on the floor beside me, and I was about to ask Eric to release me when he raised his hand rejectingly, took a quick look out of the window, approached and showed me the void of his mouth teeth and tongue, all gone! It slowly dawned on me that he was a captive in this god-forsaken place, stuck with Frank, and so, probably, was I. Frank returned, opened his fly to release his cock, grabbed the coffee bowl and gulped the content down as Eric sucked him off. Impatiently, Frank shoved him aside and rose, cum still dripping from his cockhead, grabbed me by my hair to raise me to my feet. He gave me a good look-over, checked the ropes to assure himself that I was still in secure bondage, and then uttered the phrase that I, at this moment, feared the most: Yeah, youll do. I guess Ill have to keep ya. I started protesting, but he just smacked me in the face. I fell to the floor again, unable to rise. If only my cock had not responded to the treatment I was given, but it did. Frank noticed it too, gave a loud bellow and added: So you like whats coming to, you, eh? Well, youd better, from now on I own you. This time, he grabbed the rope tied around my genitals to bring me to my feet. I moaned with pain and was dragged, bent over, out to the farm yard. Frank, my Owner, pointed at a small wooden schack close to the privy. Thats what I been doing all morning, fixing your new house. Then he indicated the grave and added: Lost my dog a couple of days ago. Hope youll be as faithful. He brought me to the stable, shackled my feet and added: Ill keep you here until were done. Scream if you wish, noone will hear you. At least noone that will do much about it. Eric will care for you. He smiled grimly at my still not faded erection and left. That afternoon, Eric fucked me for the first time. He had me stand on my knees, ass exposed, and pressed his hands around my mouth to keep me from screaming as he pushed his encased genitals past my sphincter. Once he was inside, I forgot for a moment the predicament I was in. When he withdrew, I was sorry. Sorry for my muted friend and sorry that we had to hide from a brute like Frank. But Eric just smiled, patted my head as if to say Dont worry, well all be fine. Youll see, you get used to it. Suddenly, there were voices outside, and Eric sneaked away, soundlessly. Frank entered, and he had company, a tall fellow, thin but muscular, dressed in nothing but faded cutoffs and boots. He also had a shaven head and a goatee, in all a reasonably attractive guy. Neither he nor Frank took any notice of me as they passed my booth, but Frank unlocked a door at the far end of the stable. What was said behind it I could not hear, but I sensed some tightening of athmosphere, some tension building up, and at their exit my impression was confirmed. The new guy was clearly excited about what he had seen. When they reached my booth, he looked at me for the first time and said: Not bad for raw material, I must say. So, when do we start? What about right now, Frank answered and started to unshackle me. He also freed amy hands, removed the wooden plank and pulled me up to standing position. No use wasting time. And with that he yanked the rope and I had to follow in the direction my cock and balls led me. The new guy followed in our footsteps. The room was flooded with light and unfurnished but for a black leather couch and a locked cupboard. Frank slumped me down on the couch, removed the rope finally around my genitals and recycled it. In a few seconds, I was strapped, on my back on the couch. The new guy unlocked the cupboard and approached, carrying a can. He put on rubber gloves and began smearing the content of the can over my skin. He took some time fondling my cock and balls, and, wouldnt you know, before he had covered my front my cock rose to the skies. Then he pulled a machine that looked like one of those dentists lamps out of the cupboard and started moving it slowly about an inch or so from my body. It created a pinching feeling that was not altogether unpleasant and it was not until it reached my chest that I grasped the function of the contraption. The hairs on my chest I used to be covered with fur shriveled as the machine passed, and fell off with the smallest touch of Franks fingers. Too bad it cant be used on the eyelids, the guy said with a laugh, and gave Frank a set of pliers. Tears ran down my face as Frank pulled out my eyelashes, straw by straw, making sure the roots were destroyed. In the meantime, the new guy had finished my arms and now no hair could be seen anywhere on my front body. Then I was turned over. While the new guy was doing my legs, Frank used an ordinary clipper to reduce my head hair to a mere stubble, and even that didnt last for long. When back in my booth I was completely hairless all over, and I heard the guy tell Frank that the procedure would have to be repeated a few times to make sure that no hair would ever grew back again. It was a pleasure, he said, having been the one to initiate me. The straw on the floor of the booth felt rough against my newly denuded skin but I was somewhat redeamed by Eric bringing me supper. This time I did not fall over, trying to reach the bowl of beans in front of me, placed on the floor. The guy returned a few times, and I had to undergo the hair removal procedure several times before he was satisfied with the results. With time, I didn¨t even care. I knew that I would never return to my care-free former life, and Eric helped me adjust to my new life in captivity. I had no other choice than to be faithful to my Owner. And my cock agreed with me. To be honest, there were moments when I contemplated escape. I had managed to get of few glimpses of the neighbourhood. The house seemed completely isolated and hiding in the woods somewhere would have been easy. But some strange force prevented me. Frank obvioulsy knew more about the wilderness than I did. How would my friends, my employer, my parents react to my new appearance? What if I simply got lost? Here at least I was fed, and I had Eric. And I was sure Frank would catch up with me, perhaps even kill me, if I tried. Knowing what I know now, perhaps I had been better off dead. Now I no longer have my cock to tell me otherwise. So I stayed in my booth, although not shackled any more, only my hands were still tied behind my back. Gradually, I got used to the idea of never returning to civilization, such as it is. True, it took some time to adjust to Franks brutal fucking, but even that slowly became a daily routine, and I succumbed, even started to look forward to his abuse. I wouldnt have, though, had it not been for Eric and our stolen moments together. With his rope encased genitals up my ass I felt perfectly safe, incredibly horny and in harmony, you might say, with nature. All in all, in the end I had accepted to be owned, and I had begun to think of Frank as my Owner. A few weeks pwent by with nothing out of the ordinary on schedule it you can count anything that was going on in this remote part of the world as ordinary. Then one day the guy with the shaven head returned. I now knew, because Eric had told me, that he was the local vet and Franks only friend. He was also on line with Franks peculiar sexual tastes and therefore, from Franks point of view, absolutely trustworthy. It was the vet who, on Franks orders, had performed the tongue amputation on Eric. I was in no doubt that he was going to work on me, too. I just didnt know to what degree or in which direction. It was with a mixture of fear and anticipation that I lay there waiting, once again secured to the black leather couch in that flood-lit room. Frank had ordered me in there by simply snapping his fingers, and I had followed, automatically on all fours. That is how far my mind had followed my cocks advice. One could say that I had been broken in. I watched the vet opening the cupboard, again to bring forward som small instruments and the big machine he had used for my hair removal sessions. I was confused for a while, but readily obeyed when Owner ordered me to open my mouth wide and to keep it that way. It was impossible not to move my head at the vets first attack on my teeth. Owner had to hold my head in a firm grip when the vet used a thong and started pulling. The pain was excutiating, but after a while my mouth started to feel alien to me, as if sedated, and the crunching sound filling my head became more horrible than the pain itself. Several times I almost choked on the mixture of blood and saliva that threatened to find its way into my lungs. Fortunately, after a while the vet needed a break and I got a chance to spit and to breath deeply. By then, only twelwe teeth remained in my mouth, the molars and the ones in front. It took the vet most of that afternoon to finish his work, and when back in my booth again, I crouched in a corner, barely conscious. Only when Eric arrived to serve me a bowl of indistinguishable, hot fluid, I mustered enough energy to concentrate on finding out what had been done to me. My tongue was badly swollen but it was there, thank God! and useless, but threatened to get in the way when I slurped the fluid down with my lips. Somehow I finished my meal and rested, my swollen dogs tongue resting on the piercingly sharp objects that were once my front teeth and between the long fangs that replaced my molars. I had a nightmare that night. Owner was digging a grave outside his house, for his dog. When the body was inside, it had a human face, with a tongue sticking out of a mouth half open. In the morning, the swelling was down, and for the first time since my arrival at the farm, Owner did not finish his job inside my ass. He fucked me, of course, as violently as ever, but withdrew without cumming. Instead I had to prove the mobility of my prolonged tongue on his still erected cock, circulate it under his messy foreskin and slowly accept the length of his cock between my new fangs and down my throat. I had to taste some of my own shit in the process, but worried more about not scratching his member with my sharp front teeth. I did not, and felt an odd kind of pride, which increased when I managed to swallow his load without choking. My performance must have been satisfactory to Owner, because the next thing he did was releasing my hands. Instinctively, I tried to get on my two feet, but a firm hand on my head kept me down. His intention was not to set me free and I was not sure I knew the meaning of the word freedom any more. Instead, as he said, I was in for some severe training. And the rope was used in a new way. I had to try several times before I finally got my body off the floor. My limbs were folded. Rope secured them in this position. My hands rested on my shoulders, my feet half way up my buttocks. My only contact with the ground while standing was my elbows and my knees. I tried tentatively to take a step forward, but immediately tripped over. Owner laughed: You got the day. I have better things to do. When he returned, late in the evening, I had made some progress. My elbows and klnees were horribly scratched and coagulated blood adorned my face I had fallen flat on my face several times in my attempts to walk and the fact that my front legs were shorter made finding balance even harder. On the other hand, this made my ass more accessible, a fact that Owner did not overlook. In a few days, I had actually learned how to walk. OK, I couldnt run, exactly, but a few steps at the time, even some backwards. Standing on my knees I reached high enough to lick Owners ass clean or have his ever eager cock thrust down my throat. Owner was satisified. So satisfied, really, that he prepared for the next step in my transformation. This time, he needed no assistance from the vet. As I lay on the leather couch, my four legs and my cock in the air, I watched him take a tray out of the cupboard. I could not see what was on it, but I heard repeatedly a splashing noice and finally a buzzing sound, three or four times, buzz, buzz, buzz and then he got to work. He started on my face, between the eyes. I closed my eyes hard and clenched my teeth the fangs scratched my gums to avoid the pain as the tattoo needle cut into the bridge of my nose. Owners hand swiftly moved back and forth from the tray to my face, and he worked in short, but painful, straight strokes with the needle. After a couple of hours he took a step back to investigate, added a few details and, to my relief, called it a day. Do you head tomorrow, he said, so better get a good nights rest. It took him two weeks to complete the work. The strange thing was, when he did my legs, he had to untie me, but I was too stiff to straighten them out completely. Same thing with my arms. During healing, there was no risk in leaving my limbs untied. I was not able to use them anyway. When I look down my chest now, I can see what Owner has created. At first I thought my hair had miraculously grown back. Then I realized it was just and illusion. The tattoo needle had created fur, a real dogs fur, the colour and pattern that of a German Shepherds. I was up again, walking on all fours, when the vet arrived for his next visit. He was impressed by Owners handicraft, to the point that he, for the first time, asked for Owners permission to use me sexually. He was not rough, not like Owner, when he pressed his eager cock between my furry buttocks and into my ass. The vet certainly had a way with animals. He grabbed my tits, scratched me behind my ears and slapped my butt, firmly but gently, until he finally belllowed out his orgasm. I couldnt help it, but I enjoyed his playful manhandling almost as much as I enjoyed Erics mute and tender lovemaking. My tongue slipped passed my lips and I breathed heavily, exhausted after the act. This time, the vet carried me into the operating room and put me under sedation. Before I lost consciousness, I faintly overheard their discussion but could only distinguish one single word: Transplant. I slept before I had the opportunity to contemplate its significance. I woke up, back in my booth, with a splitting headache. My throat was sore, too, and hunger ripped my body. I wasnt going to be fed, though, not today anyway. Eric arrived without the usual bowl of food. He tried to explain to me what had been done. Only then did I realize that I had hardly uttered a word since that first fateful day in the cabin. Now I couldnt. Somehow my ability to talk had been distroyed. All I could perform was a howling, almost barking sound. It sounded horrible to my ears, horrible and distant. Eric held his hands cupped over his own, but it took time for me to understand that mine had been cut off. I felt a sudden urge to throw up, but couldnt. Instead, I got up, staggered out of the boot, out in the farm-yard, and relieved myself, both ways. As if by instinct, I had learned to raise my hind leg against a tree not to soil myself when I pissed. Eric, as usual, did his best to comfort me, to make me forget my loss, and when he was done, I mercifully went into deep sleep, almost like a coma. I cannot account for most of what happened to me next, only try to convince you that most of it didnt meet with much resistance on my part. Life is a funny thing, and in a way I felt enriched by the thought that Owners former dog, Bonzo, the one buried in the yard, somehow had reached eternal life, through me. I remember being forced to spend weeks lying on my back, watching my arms and legs, now reduced to stumps after being amputaded above my elbows and knees. There was no pain, just a strange feeling that I could move my hands and feet as if they were still attached to me. And Owner, even if he still fucked me as relentlessly as ever, seemed to undergo a change in attitude, becoming more playful during the act. Toward the end of the healing period Ill never forget this he even bent over, his cock still up my ass, to suck my always eager cock. He drove me to the point of coming, then withdrew and I shot my load clear to the sky. I remember, too, the weeks it took to l.earn to walk again. The first time I tried, my legs would not carry me. Or rather, the dogs paws that was now attached to my stumps by the wet had not learned carry my body weight. They did, in time, and it was pure joy to find that I was free to move about the premises. Free, but for the chain attached to the dog collar around my neck and fastened to my new home, the one Owner had built the day after my arrival to his farm. Perhaps I enjoyed even more that my hearing had improved. I was now wearing Bonzos ears, transplanted to my head. One detail remained, though, before Owner dared rely upon my being not only his dog slave, but his faithful dog. This time, I was kept consciuos during the procedure and could watch it, step by step. I needed no restraints, only local anesthetics, because I had come to accept the fact that I was no longer a human being. I watched, with fascination, as the vet stuck needles into the base of my genitals. I felt numbness spreading, but could not see any effect of the drugs to my cock, that was still striving to high heaven. Owner then lubricated a catheter and started pushing it, gently for being him, down my urethra, until it reached my bladder. The vet waited for the piss flow to stop before he aimed his scalpel at my cock and started cutting. I had to look away for a while because of the blood that sprayed my abdomen with each cut. It seemed not to bother the vet, though. He persisted in working his scalpel through the flesh of my cock, slowly and meticulously, carefully not to harm the urethra in the process. Stripe by stripe, my cock left my body and he started digging for the roots. Me, I couldnt help watching, and in the end the vet succeeded in stopping the blood flow. Then he opened my scrotum. When he had finished, all that remained of my proud manhood was a worm-like thing that hung from the bloody mess that was my crotch. The vet had to wait for a couple of hours until he knew that his attempts to stop my blood from oozing from the wound had worked before he could proceed. He had been successful, and prepared me for the next step in my transformance. That is how Owner turned me into his faithful, half human dog, My urethra now runs through Bonzos black and huge dogs cock. Underneath it, I wear his dark, heavy scrotum, filled with silicon implants. I dont need much of a sign from Owner before I know how to behave. I know when to reach up to him to lick his ass clean or attend to his cock. I know when to stretch my hind legs to give him easy access to my ass. And I have learned, that underneath his roughness, Owner, like the vet, has a way with animals. As mentioned, I had a hard time sharing the story of my life as a dog with you. Writing with a dogw paw is no easy business. I will be eternally grateful to Eric, who helped me through my first fears and guided me to my new existence, who helped me accept, even appreciate, that I have become, and will remain till I die, an animal. He had to sneak away to put my manuscript in a mailbox, and he lost all his hair because of it, but he doesnt seem to mind.