Puppy Boy

The Pup Club

After I moved to England from mainland Europe, I quickly went to a gay bar in town, looking to make likeminded friends. I put on a revealing and sexy outfit to tease my fit body. A fishnet tanktop with a cheerleader mini-skirt. After all, you never know when you'll run into someone interesting.

Quite quickly I started talking with a rather formally dressed man. He explained that he worked for a powerful Aristocrat, who was looking for a new toy. According to the formally dressed man, I fitted his employer's wishes, so he offered me an irresistible amount of cash. "This will not be a friendly visit, he's looking for a new toy. A fit young man to serve him. He'll expect you to strip naked before him so he can inspect you, and he will touch you."

Instead of scaring me away, this triggered my interest even more. I had always been into Dom/sub porn online, and had written many fantasy stories in which I submitted to a powerful man.

We hopped in a limousine that took us out of the city. The man explained that he was sort of the fixer for his employer. Taking care of his special needs, like rare cars, expensive watches, tickets to exclusive events and even meetings with celebrities.

But his main specialty was finding and training young new servants. His employer employed a small group of young, fit men that had devoted their lives to him.

His newest assignment was to find a new pup. The man had had a dog that passed away. He missed his companion, but wasn't ready yet to replace his old friend with a new canine. Thus, a boy pup had to be found. Many of his friends had recently gotten ones too, so he wanted to keep up with the trend.

I listened closely, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. This could've been one of my fantasy stores. But it was really happening to me.

As we drove through a majestic gate, an enormous estate appeared on the horizon. The building was try gigantic.

My car door was opened by a handsome young man in a seemingly fitted tuxedo with red tailcoat jacket and white pants. He bowed his head as I stepped out of the car.

The fixer, as I called him to myself, stepped out after me and slapped the boy's ass. "Good boy!" he said excitedly. "Thank you, Sir." the boy said calmly, not batting an eye.

The fixer laughed and turned back to me. "Look how well behaved he is, I think I can make you just as obedient." The grand doors were opened by 2 more boys in similar uniforms. They too bowed their heads as we passed. I gazed at them, but the fixer grabbed me by my arm and pulled me along. "No time to waste boy, my employer is waiting for you."

We walked through what felt like a maze of hallways until we halted before a room. The fixer knocked calmly on the door. It was silent for a while, until a voice from inside said: "come in, come in."

The fixer opened the door, grabbed my arm even tighter and pushed me through the door. "Good evening, sir. I may have found a new toy you might like."

The man, he looked about 30 years old, stood by a big window, overseeing his vast property. "We'll see Smitty. We'll see." He turned around and signalled me to approach. I walked towards him, but as I arrived, he slapped me in the face.

"NEVER look at me unless I tell you to. You bow your head in my presence. Understood?" I nodded and bowed my head. "Yes sir."

"Smitty probably told you I'm looking for a cute doggie. You seem to be the perfect size, not too tall, not too muscular but yet a pleasure to look at. I pay my employees well, but I demand the utmost from them. In my employment, you relinquish all control over your life and body to me. You are mine and mine alone. I will take care of you, but use and abuse you as I please. No will no longer be part of your vocabulary. In fact, my employees never speak much more than "Yes sir, thank you sir. Does that sound attractive to you?"

"Yes sir, thank you sir." I calmly replied.

"Ah, you learn quickly. That's perfect. There's only a few things I will demand from my dog. You will never speak, you will be on all fours and you will obey me. A disobedient dog is useless to me, and will be discarded. I will breed you, to show you who is your alpha dog."

He gave Smitty a suggestive look, which the fixer recognized as an order to strip me down. He pulled a pair of scissors out of his pocket and started cutting away my clothing. As I was left standing in my thong, the employer did a step forward and ripped it off in one smooth motion.

There I stood. Naked as the day I was born. Vulnerable and exposed. The employer started running his hands over my body, groping my cock and inserting a finger in my anus. "Nice and small cock, tight hole and a good body. You seem just right. But I need to know if you could be a good doggie, so get on all fours and crawl around, bitch."

I slowly got on my hands and knees and started walking around. I started wagging my ass a little, to simulate a happy pup. The employer ordered me to return towards him. As I came to a stop before him, he put two fingers under my chin and lifted my head up. "You are a good little bitch. I will keep you for the weekend, so we can try you out some more." Smitty came closer and handed the man something. A collar with a leash. The man closed the collar around my neck, locked it and attached the leash.

And that's how it started. 2 year later, I have never looked back. I now permanently live in the mansion's stables with a pack of other doggy boys. We frequently go out on walks with our owner (that's what we call our employer nowadays) and his friends, during which we get to play with the other pup boys. Always a joyous occasion.

Part 1 of a collab with the great @alternate-real-ities. Keep a look out for part 2!

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Alfred groaned as he slowly came back to consciousness and pushed himself off of the cold concrete floor. As he tried to collect his thoughts through the painful throbbing in the back of his head, one fought its way to the front: where the hell was he?

It wasn’t that Alfred wasn’t used to waking up in strange places. He knew he didn’t seem like the type to be out partying all night and getting blackout drunk, but he had... A friend who seemed determined to have them go out together every night, so despite being a gangly, shy 27 year old accountant, Alfred was actually pretty used to waking up in strange places with no idea how he got there. The problem was, even for him, this place was… weird. Usually when he woke up after a night out he’d be in a strangers bed, or in the backroom of a club, or even a gym locker room a few times, but right now he seemed to be in some sort of dimly lit warehouse. Not only that, his head hurt like hell, far worse than could be explained by a hangover, and… wait, was he in some sort of cage?

Alfred felt pain and exhaustion leave him as the sinking realization he was trapped sent adrenaline pumping through him. He was in the middle of a large shiny cage, although considering the size he could probably call it a cell. Acting on instinct, he went to the cage door, grabbing onto one of the bars, and screamed as he felt it burn his skin. He pulled back, clutching his hand to his chest, his face paling as he realized what was going on. Normal cages didn’t burn people. Normal cages wouldn’t burn him. Not unless they were… “Silver.” A commanding voice said from the darkness. Alfred flinched back at the voice, and looked over to see a large figure step close. “Not quite as deadly as it would have been for our ancestors, but if you get enough of it and charge it up with the right magic…” The figure stepped closer, and tapped the bar with a finger, letting out a slight, almost satisfied hiss as it burnt him too “... effective enough.”

Alfred shuddered as he looked over the being before him, a mix of fear and a strange feeling of submission combining inside of him. He didn’t know who this person was, but he could tell what he was easily. Even if he hadn’t been able to see the man's chiseled jawline and sculpted muscles typical of his kind, he could smell it on him. Alfred had been captured by an Alpha.

When Alfred told his coworkers that he was constantly being forced out of his house by a friend who loved to party, that wasn’t entirely true. There was someone who made Alfred go out to a party every night, but it wasn’t exactly a friend. It was… well, him. Or his other self. See, Alfred wasn’t an average human. He was something known as a Beast. A descendent of ancient werewolves that had evolved with modern times, a Beast is a regular man during the day, but undergoes a nightly transformation where he becomes far more… animalistic. Still a human, but far more muscular, hairy and… wild. Alfred, having had a one night stand with a Beast in college, had been infected by the creature's curse. So every night Alfred would go to bed… and Big Al would wake up in his place. Alfred had not been happy when he learned that the first guy he hooked up with at college had knowingly infected him with a supernatural disease, but over the years he had learned to live with Big Al, he’d come to see him less as a curse or a problem and more as a sort of… roommate. Sure he was a pretty rowdy guy, but from the little they had been able to communicate Big Al had actually been very nice, and as long as he made sure not to infect anyone like Alfred had been infected, Alfred was fine letting his ‘roommate’ go out and party at night while he lived his own life during the day. It was because of Big Al that Alfred ended up learning about magic, and more importantly, ended up learning about the other known descendant of werewolves: Alphas.

While Beasts had inherited their ancestors nightly transformations and wild tendencies, Alphas, who had supposedly descended from the most dominant werewolves of old, inherited their natural dominance over others. The stories that Alfred had managed to find about Alphas were terrifying. Muscular, god-like men who could bend both human will and even some of reality itself to their own whims. Between Beasts and Alphas, Alfred had been very glad he had met the former, as meeting the latter often ended with you becoming a plaything for the Alpha, who could alter their ‘betas’ identity with a mere thought. Alfred had done his best to avoid Alphas… but now it seemed one had him trapped, in a cage of silver, and at his mercy.

The unnamed alpha sneered in disgust as he looked down at Alfred “Ugh, quit it with the pathetic whining.” He said, causing Alfred to realize that in his panic his beastly instincts had taken over and he had begun to whine like a wounded pup. “Sometimes I can’t believe you things are actually related to us Alphas.” He said, rolling his eyes at Alfred’s distress.

Alfred tried to steel himself, knowing he’d have to use all his willpower to keep himself from falling into the Alpha’s spell. “... W-what do you want from me?” He asked, unable to stop his voice from cracking nervously as he did. The Alpha simply chuckled at this, a dark, amused chuckle that made Alfred feel tiny.

“I don’t want anything from you cuck. What I need, I need from ‘Big Al’ or whatever he calls himself.” The Alpha said simply “... see, Alphas like me… we can control so much. People, reality. Everything submits to us, molds to our desires like… putty.” He said, his voice hypnotic and terrifying all at once “... but in the history of the world, no Alpha has actually managed to take over the world. Do you know why that is?” The studly predator asked 

“... I-it’s because there's more than one of you…” Alfred answered shakily, a small part of him proud of his research. The Alpha grinned, looking at Alfred with a strange sort of hunger. “Yes! Exactly! See, there aren’t that many Alphas in the world, but the ones that exist are all about as strong as each other. So, if any one Alpha would try to take control, they’d be quickly defeated by the others, who would also want control. Which would eventually lead to us destroying each other.” He said with a scowl “I mean, we could work together, but it’s not in our nature to share. Which is why my kind decided, long ago, to travel the world and take what we want, without ruling it outright.” He said “... Personally, I think it’s fucking pitiful, that we would all be better off if we had just hashed it out and let the last, most dominant Alpha rule it all. But, it is a problem, regardless of how I feel. So, how do I fix it?” He asked, a wicked grin on his handsome face “By making myself more dominant than any of them.”

Suddenly a loud creaking sound echoed through the warehouse, and Alfred watched in a dim light as a number of cloaked figures, most likely the Alpha’s Betas, forced something forward. Something that growled.

“You see, Alphas have been trying to figure out ways to out dominate each other for years. Technically using outside sources to make yourself more dominant is considered ‘dishonorable’ but… we’ll just keep this between us.” The blond Alpha said a grin, as charming as it was threatening. “And one thing that no one has really tried yet… is bringing us back to our roots.”

“Our roots…” Alfred said “... you’re trying to make yourself a werewolf. Like, a real, full werewolf.” He continued, a horrific feeling of understanding coming over him 

“Bingo. You’re smart for a stupid Beast.” The Alpha said with a smirk “The werewolves of old weren’t just Hollywood monsters. They were practically gods, creatures of such dominance and prime animalistic power that they had packs the sizes of empires. And once I’m one of them, well, without any other full werewolves around to stop me… I’ll be able to do anything.” 

“This doesn’t make any sense…” Alfred said, trying to stay calm “I mean, Alphas can’t be turned by Beasts, even if they want to be. Our DNA just doesn’t work together…” Alfred continued “And… what is that thing!?” He asked, pointing as the creature in the dark that was struggling to stay there as the Betas tugged it forward with what looked to be a metal chain wrapped around its neck. 

“That?” The alpha said, clearly amused, “That’s your new boyfriend.”

Alfred watched in shock as the creature was forced closer to his cage, and recoiled at the sight. He had heard rumors, rumors that some strains of the original werewolf virus still remained, albeit weakened, but most people, even in the magical community, seemed to regard it as a myth. But here it was… a living victim of the lycan-virus. The Alpha laughed heartily as he watched Alfred stumble back as the creature was forced closer to his cage. “You’re right little Beast. A Beast could never infect an Alpha. And the lycan-virus? Could maybe turn a particularly weak one. But both, together? Now that's a winning combination.” The Alpha explained, looking over the werewolf like it was a particularly interesting toy. “From what I can find, if this little monster infects you, just as you transform with the moon's rise… then you’ll become something stronger than a werewolf or a beast.” He explained “And if whatever you become infects me? I’ll be able to dominate… anything….” he said, almost drooling at the thought of finally having true, complete control “... but enough with the fucking exposition. As fun as it is to watch you panic as you realize what's going to happen, I’d rather get right to the show.” He said with a snarl. 

Suddenly a phone alarm went off, drawing a satisfied grin from the Alpha “And that's sunset. Now… how about we get this done with.” He said. The blond muscle man walked over to the Lycan, and with an inhuman strength, grabbed him by the neck with one hand, opened the door to the cage with the other, and tossed him in, before trapping them both inside.

Alfred wanted to scream, but found the sounds wouldn’t form in his throat. He was trapped, in a cage made of walls he couldn’t even touch, with a dangerous Lycan that was just as likely to tear him to shreds as it was to turn him. Even worse, he could feel Big Al emerging from his rest, his consciousness pushing against Alfred’s own as his muscles began to firm up and push out.

The Lycan, strangely, didn’t attack Alfred right away. It sniffed around the cage, around Alfred, curiously, before suddenly pulling the Beast to the floor mid transformation. Before Alfred could even scream, he felt the Lycan rip his clothes off and bite down on his neck. A burning sensation flooded his body, but strangely, it didn’t feel… bad. In fact, it felt… incredible. The other man's bite hurt, yes, but it also sent waves of pleasure through his growing body, ones that he could tell the Lycan felt too. And in the middle of the pleasure, as the virus flooded his veins, his average cock started going from soft to rock-hard in seconds… feeling so, but so tight in his cramped shorts.

As the Lycan gently licked the wound, Alfred could feel himself finally recede as Big Al, or whatever he would be now, took place. Big Al didn’t know why he was in this strange place, or why he could smell the stench of an Alpha, or why there was a wolf-like man gyrating on top of him. All he knew was that that man, the Lycan, was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Soon the Beast was on top of the Lycan, his huge cock deep in the Lycan’s ass as the creature panted and whined for more. Big Al took the strange man, no actually, took his mate into a deep, commanding kiss as he continued to fuck his ass, quickly coming inside him as he felt them both begin to change. The Alpha’s plan was working, just far better than he had imagined.

As Big Al and his new mate fucked, consummated the strange new bond that was quickly forming between then, the two began to grow. First the Lycan, who packed on another 20 pounds of muscle spread evenly across his body, and then Al, who quickly grew much larger, his already massive beastly muscles getting even thicker as his body began to take on more wolf-like characteristics, Lycan characteristics. Big Al, or whatever he was becoming, let out a terrifying, spine shivering howl, and bit down on his mates neck, getting a breathless gasp from him as they both came one final time. It all happened very quickly… but for the two men laying in the cage, everything had changed.

As the former beast laid his Lycan mate on the ground, kissing his neck sweetly and positioning himself over him protectively, he could feel his mind slowly coming back to him. Except it was different. Everything was different. He wasn’t Big Al anymore, but he also wasn’t Alfred. Both identities had swirled together in a way that let him know that there wasn’t going to be any switching back and forth anymore. No more Alfred, no more Big Al… for now he’d just go by Al, until he found something better. He looked down at the Lycan below him and felt his heart flutter as he watched the slightly smaller wolfman drift off to sleep. Whatever he had become, he could tell his new mate had become one as well, and whoever he was, he knew he had to protect him, had to care for him. Which meant getting rid of the disgusting creatures that hoped to cage them.

Al rose to his feet, snarling, and looked at the shocked Alpha that stood on the other side of the bars. The blond beefcake still grinned but now Al could see something else behind those eyes. Could smell it on him. Something that should be completely unheard of for Alphas… Fear. Uncertainty. And it smelled… heavenly.

“Ok. Step one is complete. Now, onto step two. Infecting me.” The Alpha said, looking at the wolf-beast with a sneer “For this I’m going to need a more… obedient pet. Kneel.” 

Al could feel the Alpha trying to force his will on him, could feel his dominance trying to bend reality to what he wanted. But Al… simply decided not to bend. And upon seeing the shock on the Alpha’s face, reached out, grabbed two of the bars… and ripped the cage open.

The Betas, unsure what to do when their Alpha was no longer in control, fled and panicked, while the Alpha, having no reference for a situation where he was not in charge, scrambled back in fear. “T-this isn’t supposed to… why aren’t my powers working? How did you even touch that cage!?”

Al looked down at the Alpha, an apex predator brought to his knees, and chuckled with amusement “... you really have no idea what you’ve just done, do you? You’ve created something far more powerful than yourself. You thought you could create something closer to a true werewolf and then use that to infect yourself, but never imagined your own creation would already be more dominant than you. Someone who could send your most loyal betas running. Someone who could turn silver to lead without a second thought.” Al continued, delighting in the fear on the Alpha’s face “You’ve never even considered that someday, someone might have the same power over you that you lord over others. And now…” Al growled, "You're my goddamned bitch.”

---

Description

AE-919 refers to a series of humanoid statues exhibiting anomalous properties. The statues are believed to be of ancient origin, with stylistic elements reminiscent of classical Greek and Roman sculpture. Each statue is crafted with meticulous detail, showcasing an idealised version of the male form.

Each statue is at least 2 metres tall and is carved from either granite or marble. The statues depict hyper-muscled, nude male figures with exaggerated masculine features and prominent genitalia. Weapons and armour are notably absent, and the statues can be seen posing in typical stereotypical frat jock style.

AE-919 can be very dangerous. Prolonged visual contact with an instance of AE-919 causes a progressive anomalous effect on living human subjects. Initial symptoms include elevated heart rate, increased body temperature, and involuntary muscle growth. Continued exposure leads to rapid hypertrophy of skeletal muscle, heightened libido, cognitive simplification, and compulsive sexual arousal reminiscent of a jock-like mentality. Upon physical contact, anyone that touches or is touched by an instance undergoes full petrification and body transformation, becoming an additional instance of AE-919.

AE-919 instances are immobile and silent, but they can move when not being observed directly, which proves to be a significant hazard for anyone in the vicinity. We have found out that covering the statues with opaque materials can temporarily inhibit their movement, but this is not a permanent solution.

(A requested story)

Jackson was excited to have his own apartment. He’d grown up in a small family home with seven siblings. As much as he loved his family he longed for his own space, his own freedom. How could he bring girls home when he shared a room with his younger brothers? Plus it would get awkward introducing his revolving door of women. When he found the apartment it seemed too good to be true. It was in the middle of the city, was low rent, and frankly looked amazing. All of the apartments had become available to rent. When he was moving in, he noticed several others moving in at the same time. All young jock types much like Jackson. It was a bit odd. Jackson was hauling his last box up the stairs of the complex to his apartment when he was greeted by his landlord. The man was tall and burly. He was a real stocky Daddy type. A thick beard adorned his face with specks of grey and a firm gut pressed against his shirt. Jackson thought it was disgusting how fat the man was. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said, his voice carrying natural authority. Behind the man’s apartment door, Jackson could hear barking and whining. The smell of wet dog seeping through the door. The slightest look of disgust crept onto Jackson’s face. He hated dogs. They were filthy and disgusting animals, why anyone would want one as a pet was beyond him. They were loud and you had to pick up their poop. Why would anyone in their right mind want one? Jackson was a very clean guy so why would he put up with some dirty mutt? As if on queue, a dog slipped out of the landlords apartment and ran towards Jackson. The dog had slobber dripping from its face and mud was caked to its fur. It’s jumped up at Jackson and started slobbering over his face. “Get this fucking mutt off me!” Jackson screamed at his landlord who was just chuckling. The man whipped out his phone and pointed it at Jackson now the dog had jumped into his arms. “Smile!” The man said. Something about his voice made Jackson obey, even though he wanted to be as far away from the animal as possible. He smiled and one the man put the phone down only then could Jackson drop the act and retreat into his apartment.

“Filthy fucking animal!” Jackson muttered to himself as he started opening the boxes strewn around the room. Unpacking boxes, Jackson’s apartment started to feel a lot more like his own. He started with the kitchen, then the living room, then the bathroom. However, once he got to the boxes with his clothes he realised there must have been some sort of mistake. All of his shirts, tees and hoodies were missing, or more so replaced. They all had weird phrases and images printed on them. Phrases like “PUP” and “Sun Puppy” and “Good Boy”. It was all a bit freaky to him. But with no other options, he’d have to start wearing them.

As he slept in his new bed, Jackson felt itchy. He’d scratch as he’d toss and turn. Earlier he’d been finding stray dog hairs around his apartment. The landlord must have let his dogs loose on the property before which frustrated him. He didn’t want some dirty dogs messing up his home before he’d even moved in. As he slept he scratched at his face, his arms, his legs. Even behind his ears which helped him relax as he slept. Once he woke up his skin felt bristly. He’d always been a very smooth bodied guy. He only had light fuzz on his arms and legs but now they were stubbly. Especially his torso. It looked like a five o’clock shadow across most of his skin.

Either way, Jackson knew he still looked hot and wasn’t going to let a bit of hair stop him. Some girls loved a man who had body hair so he just saw it as expanding his market. Although he also felt slightly bloated, he tried to go to the toilet but it just felt wrong. The seat was uncomfortable and he couldn’t go. Without much choice for clothes, Jackson opted for one of the less graphic tees and a pair of shorts. He needed to grab some groceries before he went on a run to get to know the area. As he was shopping he got some weird looks but even stranger found himself almost growling when anyone would stare too long. It was almost like something was stuck in his throat. As he was checking out he noticed his face in the mirror. The hair on his body must have been growing quicker than he thought. Where yesterday he’d had a smooth face, he now sported facial hair around his neck and creeping up his cheeks. Normally he’d have been disgusted by it, reminding him of the rough locals back in his small rural town. But for some reason he liked the looks. It made him feel… good.

As he left his apartment for his run later that morning, Jackson bumped into his landlord again. He had a multitude of leads extending from his hands with several dogs attached. All different breeds and sizes. “Good morning, going for a run?” The man said and Jackson begrudgingly entertained the conversation. He wanted to be as far from the weird landlord and his filthy mutts as possible. “Yeah.” Jackson stated bluntly. “My dogs love a good run so I’m not surprised, make sure you take these with you, you might need them.” The man shoved a fist full of doggy bags into Jackson’s hand. Fucking doggy bags. Why the fuck would he need them. “That’s a good boy.” This statement caused a wave of pleasure to creep across Jackson as a smile cracked into his face. He didn’t like his landlord but he wanted to hear him say it again. Before Jackson could speak the man and his dogs were gone. As he made his way past the other apartments, Jackson couldn’t help but notice they were all quiet, oddly quiet. Some even had their doors ajar. In one he peeked in to see cushions ripped up and what looked like piss on the floor. Disgusting, one of the landlords dogs must have gotten in. He thought it weird but decided to continue outside.

The park adjacent to the apartment complex was huge. Large open spaces, lots of trees and even a runners path. There were hardly any people out, just lots of dog walkers. There was even a huge dog park near the entrance. He could see his landlord letting his dogs loose as they ran around, sniffed each other’s butts and some were even fucking. Jackson turned away thinking it was gross. The landlord gave him a wave and for a moment Jackson wanted to walk over, run even. But he didn’t. He started his run with his music blaring in his ears. He felt good, hot even. How could any girl resist a handsome jock like him. He even passed a petite blonde girl walking her dog and gave her a smirk. But as he jogged on, Jackson felt his stomach rumbling. His guts felt like they were churning. He had to slow down to a jog because it became uncomfortable. His bladder also started feeling like it was about to burst. He needed a toilet, but there seemed to be none around the park. Now desperate Jackson was looking for somewhere to relieve himself. He saw what looked like a small shack for maintenance and ran towards it. He was clenching his crotch in one hand and his ass in the other. He was about to burst. Sweat we pouring down his forehead as he looked around. The coast was clear. He hated that he had to do it outside like some mutt. He squat and pulled down his shorts. As soon as his ass was out it was as if his intestines were pouring out of him. Relief ran across his face as he shit on the floor. He couldn’t help it, he even found himself starting to get hard. Just as he was done he felt almost euphoric. It was then that his landlord started to pass in front of him with his parade of dogs. They lumbered up to his face and started sniffing him, one even going for his butt. The landlord chuckled, “told you you’d need a doggy bag, might even need a few.” The man laughed and walked on. Jackson’s face flushed red as he slowly got up and pulled his shorts back on. The fuck was wrong with him?! As he ran home his tongue idly slipped out his mouth and bounced as he ran, panting the whole way.

Back at his apartment Jackson could help but feel dirty, unclean even. He’d just gone to the toilet in the park and it was like a switch went off in his mind. He couldn’t use the toilet even if he wanted. If he needed to pee he knew from now on he’d only be able to go outside. He felt disgusted as he put the doggy bags full of shit into the trash can outside the apartment. This time as he made his way to his door, he noticed even more apartments with doors left open and in similar states. From outside his landlords door it seemed there was even more barking as the dogs sounded like they were going wild. Once back in his apartment Jackson felt uncomfortable in his clothes. They felt restricting and unbearably itchy. He sat down and started taking off his shoes when the smell of sweaty trainers hit him by surprise. The rotten smell was almost enticing as he lifted the shoe up to his nose and gave a deep sniff. What the fuck was wrong with him. He loved it but knew he shouldn’t. He threw the shoe down in shock. He continued stripping his clothes starting with his socks. He was shocked when he saw his feet were covered in thick black hair. He looked like a hobbit. He then took off his shorts and shirt to see he was covered in the stuff. All matted and sweaty against his skin. Not only that, his stomach looked, bloated? Sitting down it bulged out and was resting in his lap. It was a solid gut. His abs were hidden under layers of thick warm fat. His hands groped and squeezed it but no matter how much he didn’t want to believe it, it was real. His jock body was gone. A roll of fat even creased under his soft pecs above his gut.

He needed help, and fast. What the hell was happening to him. He needed to find someone. They’d tell him what to do. Yeah! They’d tell him what to do. He’d do what they said. That would make him feel better. He didn’t know what to do on his own, he needed direction. Commands. To feel like a good boy. Jackson grew restless and started whining. Something was very wrong. He could t live on his own. He wanted his home. His master. Jackson knew these thoughts were wrong but it was starting to feel like it was all he’d ever known. In a panic he started pacing the room, his belly jiggling with every step. It felt wrong. Something was off. He shouldn’t be walking in two feet. Yeah that’s what was wrong, Jackson was a smart boy. He should be on all fours. He dropped to his hands and knees and started pacing the room. Wait no! His was a human, he walked on two feet didn’t he? He tried to get back up but standing up was making his back hurt. He crawled over to his phone to try and call someone. Anyone. He tapped at the screen but it was just bright colours and shapes to him now. He couldn’t understand it. Jackson shouted out which quickly made his fear worse.

WOOF! BARK! AROOOOO!

Where were his words? His human words? Humans have words. They speak with them don’t they? Why couldn’t he? Jackson kept barking in frustration trying his best to form and word he could but it was no use. He was so scared he started to piss himself. He didn’t know what to do. The puddle grew beneath him. Just when he thought he was completely helpless his front door opened. It was his landlord. In his hand was a leash and a collar. Jackson’s knew whatever this was, whatever was happening to him, it was because of that man. His landlord. His… master. As if on autopilot, Jackson bound towards the man, barking and slobbering. His tongue was now flopping out the corner of his mouth, dribble dripping on the floor. The man towered over him and Jackson felt his ass wiggling. Shaking back and forth. His non existent tail wagging away. “Sit.” Jackson’s ass plopped to the floor as he sat on his haunches. “Good boy.” There it was again, that feeling of pleasure washing over Jackson making his ass shake even more. “Roll over.” Jackson fell onto his back, legs in the air as the man bent down and started rubbing his belly. It felt so good. Jackson wiggled and whined in pleasure. Before he knew it, a collar was fastened around his neck.

With that the last apartment, other than the landlord’s, was vacant. No one knew what happened to Jackson or the other tenants. No one ever did. It was a cycle. Normally people would move in then out in a matter of days. Maybe onto bigger and better things, no one knew what. Except for Jackson himself. He was now a permanent resident living in his masters apartment. His master was kind and tried to explain things to him, but Jackson would just cock his head to the side whenever his master spoke human words he didn’t understand. To the world around him, everyone saw Jackson and the other man in Master’s apartment as dogs of all breeds. All boundy and energetic. Dirty mutts as Jackson used to call them, although now he was one himself. Master even took Jackson for a walk on his own in the park the other day and the hot blonde from before said what a cute boy he was as she stroked behind his ears. He even walked him with one of his friends and their ‘dog’ a couple times. To everyone Jackson was now Jax the cute husky.

Master’s apartment was full of dogs just like him. They all slept together on the floor of master’s room, sniffed each-others butts, fucked throughout the day, went on walks, used the park as their toilet and playground, ate kibble from the same bowl and drank from the same dish. Life was simple for Jax. If you could see him for what he was, not just a mutt, you’d see how hairy the once hairless man was. His pudgy gut from being well fed. How he was constantly sweaty and dirty. Constantly horny. Always naked. Just a brute of a sub for his master.

Tonight was a treat for Jax however. Tonight was his turn in bed with master. They’d fuck senseless as the other mutts slept and Jax would howl long into the night. Although he still needed training. He came before Master let him so he’d be in the cage for the next week as well as have his cock locked away. Jax still had a long way to go until he was his Master’s perfect good boy.

Black Rubber, Golden Soul: PDU-090's Double Life There was something hypnotic about the way the light caught the shiny folds of his black rubber suit. PDU-090 stood kneeling in the polished concrete hall, his hands covered in rubber gloves resting on his thighs, his chest stretched out under the black and gold signature of the Fred Perry polo. "PDU-090" flashed on his chest. He was a drone. He was a uniform. He was a function. But tonight - this night was his.

With a click, the collar locked around his neck. A deep rubber mask, shaped like a dog's snout and pointed ears, was placed over his face. His eyes darkened - not with fear, but with focus. The black rubber hugged his ham, wrapped tightly around his arms, legs, chest. Kneepads buckled quickly, tail dangling behind him, he moved down onto all fours. Pup mode activated. He was Alf-Pup now.

It wasn’t a demotion—it was a role. A necessity. The Polo Drone, who normally gave orders and enforced discipline, now became an example. A living tool. For new recruits to the Golden Army, PDU-090 was their first encounter with K9 protocol. Their first glimpse of how power and obedience could coexist.

A goldbrother—new, confused, but with potential—stepped hesitantly into the hall. His gold jersey gleamed, the name on the back still stiff from reprinting. He froze as Alf-Pup turned his gaze to Ham. The mask hid his drone brother’s face, but he knew he was being evaluated. PDU-090 crept closer. Sniffed at the boot. Sat down. Wagged. This was no game. It was a test.

A voice from the speakers: "Recruit 553, pat the puppy. Take control. Show dominance." The golden recruit hesitated, then sank down and gently patted the drone puppy on the head. Instantly, the Alf-Pup lifted its paws, leaned against the hand, and waved again. Contact was established. The old instincts were awakening: ownership, trust, respect. But the puppy was not just a pet. Hours later, PDU-090 stood up. The dog was gone. The handler stood up again. Mask off, polo shirt straightened, stance sharp. He marched toward the recruit, now wearing black knee pads himself, with a tentative tail clipped.

👹𝑆𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛'𝑠 𝐺𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐶𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠

𝔊𝖗𝔲𝖘𝔰 𝔳𝖔𝔪 𝔎𝖗𝔞𝖒𝔭𝖚𝔰

Sfarandola

🦌𝑆𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛'𝑠 𝐺𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐶𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠

𝔊𝖗𝔲𝖘𝔰 𝔳𝖔𝔪 𝔎𝖗𝔞𝖒𝔭𝖚𝔰

❄️𝑆𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛'𝑠 𝐺𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐶𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝔊𝖗𝔲𝖘𝔰 𝔳𝖔𝔪 𝔎𝖗𝔞𝖒𝔭𝖚𝔰

Kyle sat on the worn couch in Grant’s apartment, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. The TV droned in the background, but Kyle’s mind was elsewhere, lost in memories of their childhood. Back then, in the endless summers of their suburban neighborhood, Kyle would scamper around on all fours, barking and wagging an imaginary tail while Grant laughed, tossed sticks, and scratched his “puppy” behind the ears. It was silly, innocent fun—a game that made them both howl with laughter. Now, at 32, Kyle missed that simplicity, that unselfconscious joy. He wanted it back.

“Grant,” Kyle said, his voice tentative, “do you ever think about when we were kids? You know, when I’d… pretend to be your dog?”

Grant, sprawled on the other end of the couch with a beer in hand, raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, I guess. That was ages ago, man. Why?”

Kyle’s cheeks flushed, but he pressed on. “I was thinking… maybe we could do it again. Just for fun. Like old times.”

Grant nearly choked on his beer. “What? You want to, like, crawl around and bark? Dude, we’re not ten anymore.”

“I know, I know,” Kyle said quickly, leaning forward. “It’s stupid, but… it was so fun back then. I just want to feel that again. No stress, no bullshit job, just… playing. You know?”

Grant stared at him, his expression a mix of amusement and unease. “You’re serious? You want to be my dog again?”

Kyle nodded, his eyes earnest. “Just try it. Please? For me?”

Grant sighed, running a hand through his short, dark hair. “This is weird as hell, Kyle. But… fine. One time. Let’s see how dumb this gets.”

The first attempt was awkward. Kyle dropped to his hands and knees in Grant’s living room, feeling a mix of excitement and self-consciousness. He gave a tentative “woof,” his voice cracking slightly. Grant stood there, arms crossed, looking like he was regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

“Okay, uh… good boy?” Grant said, his tone uncertain. Kyle crawled closer, nudging Grant’s leg with his head. Grant stiffened. “Dude, what are you doing?”

Kyle looked up, his eyes wide and playful, and let out a soft whine. He pawed at Grant’s knee, trying to channel the carefree energy of their childhood. Grant’s face softened, just a fraction, and he reached down to pat Kyle’s head. “This is so weird,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile.

Then Kyle, caught up in the moment, leaned up and licked Grant’s hand. Grant yanked it back like he’d been burned. “Whoa, what the hell, man? Don’t lick me! That’s gross!”

Kyle sat back on his haunches, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, got carried away. Dogs do that, you know.”

“Yeah, well, don’t,” Grant said, wiping his hand on his jeans. But he didn’t walk away. Instead, he tossed a cushion across the room. “Go fetch, weirdo.”

Kyle bounded after it, barking enthusiastically, and for a moment, the years melted away. Grant laughed—a real, unguarded laugh—and Kyle felt a warmth spread through him. This was what he’d missed.

Over the next few weeks, they fell into a rhythm. Every Friday night, Kyle would come over, shed his work stress, and become Grant’s “dog” for a few hours. Grant started to loosen up, too. He’d scratch Kyle’s back, call him “good boy,” and even bought a cheap rubber ball for fetch. The awkwardness faded, replaced by a strange, comfortable camaraderie. Grant stopped cringing at the barks and started enjoying the absurdity of it all.

One evening, as they sat on the floor after a particularly energetic game of fetch, Kyle, panting and grinning, leaned in and licked Grant’s cheek. Grant froze, his face twisting in disgust. “Ugh, Kyle, come on! That’s nasty!”

Kyle whined playfully, tilting his head. “Dogs show love like that, man.”

Grant wiped his face with his sleeve, muttering, “Yeah, well, this dog needs boundaries.” But he didn’t push Kyle away, and there was a glint in his eye that suggested he wasn’t entirely put off.

The next time it happened, a week later, Grant’s reaction was milder. Kyle, sprawled across Grant’s lap like a giant, happy retriever, licked his jaw. Grant flinched but didn’t pull away. “You’re so gross,” he said, but his tone was softer, almost fond. He ruffled Kyle’s hair, and Kyle barked happily, nuzzling closer.

The turning point came a month later. Kyle’s job at the call center was soul-crushing—endless complaints, micromanaging bosses, and a paycheck that barely covered rent. One night, after a particularly brutal shift, he showed up at Grant’s place, eyes hollow. “I can’t do it anymore,” he said, voice breaking. “I hate my life, Grant. But this—being your dog—it’s the only time I feel… free.”

Grant looked at him, concerned but unsure. “You’re not saying you want to do this all the time, are you?”

Kyle nodded, his jaw set. “I want to quit my job. Move in. Be your dog for real. 24/7.”

Grant stared, his mouth open. “Kyle, that’s insane. You can’t just… live like a dog. What about money? Your life?”

“I don’t care,” Kyle said fiercely. “I’ll figure it out. I just want this. Please, Grant. Let me try.”

Grant rubbed his temples, torn between worry and something else—something like excitement. The truth was, he’d started looking forward to their “dog nights.” Kyle’s unbridled joy was infectious, and Grant’s apartment felt less empty with him around, barking and tumbling over furniture. “This is nuts,” he said finally. “But… okay. We’ll try it. For a month. If it’s a disaster, you go back to normal, got it?”

Kyle’s face lit up, and he tackled Grant in a hug, licking his cheek in a burst of enthusiasm. Grant groaned but laughed, pushing him off. “You’re gonna have to cut that out,” he said, though his smile betrayed him.

Kyle quit his job the next day. He sold most of his stuff, moved into Grant’s spare room, and committed fully to his new role. He wore a makeshift collar—a leather belt with a tag Grant jokingly engraved with “Kyle the Dog”—and spent his days crawling, fetching, and lounging at Grant’s feet. Grant, now working from home as a graphic designer, found himself oddly comforted by Kyle’s presence. The apartment was alive with barks, playful tackles, and the occasional chewed-up sneaker (Kyle took his role very seriously).

One lazy Sunday, as they lounged on the couch watching a movie, Kyle curled up beside Grant, head on his lap. Without thinking, Kyle licked Grant’s cheek, then again, longer this time. Grant didn’t flinch. Instead, he chuckled, wiping his face halfheartedly. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, but his voice was warm. He hesitated, then added, “Go on, do it again.”

Kyle’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Grant said, a shy grin spreading. “It’s… kinda nice. In a weird way.”

Kyle didn’t need to be told twice. He licked Grant’s face, slow and deliberate, and Grant laughed, tilting his head to give Kyle better access. “Good boy,” he murmured, scratching Kyle’s neck. Kyle’s heart swelled, and he buried his face against Grant’s shoulder, tail wagging—metaphorically, but no less real.

Months passed, and their strange arrangement became their norm. Kyle lived as Grant’s dog, free from the grind of human responsibilities. Grant, once hesitant, now cherished the role of “owner.” He’d call Kyle over just to ruffle his hair or demand a playful lick, grinning every time Kyle obliged. Their bond, already strong from childhood, deepened into something unnameable—part friendship, part something else, wholly theirs.

One evening, as snow fell outside, Grant sat on the floor with Kyle sprawled across his lap, licking his cheek lazily. Grant leaned into it, eyes half-closed, a contented smile on his face. “You’re the best dog I ever had,” he said softly.

In a quiet college town, there lived a junior named Lucas, a wiry young man with a restless mind. He was enrolled in an advanced philosophy course taught by Dr. Henry Sullivan, a reserved professor in his early forties known for his dry humor and piercing intellect. Lucas had always been drawn to Dr. Sullivan’s quiet authority, the way he commanded a room without effort. But lately, that admiration had morphed into something stranger—an obsession. Lucas didn’t just want to learn from Dr. Sullivan; he wanted to be his dog.

The idea crept up on him during late-night study sessions, surrounded by books on existentialism and free will. He imagined shedding his human burdens—grades, decisions, the endless churn of self-doubt—and living simply, loyally, at Dr. Sullivan’s side. He’d picture himself curled up at the professor’s feet, waiting for a command, free of everything but devotion. It was bizarre, even to him, but the more he thought about it, the more it felt right. He started noticing Dr. Sullivan’s habits: the way he tapped his pen when deep in thought, the faint scent of his cologne, the rhythm of his steps down the hall. Lucas’s fixation grew, quiet but all-consuming.

For weeks, he wrestled with the urge to confess. He’d linger after class, making small talk, testing the waters, but never daring to voice the truth. Finally, one gray afternoon, with rain drumming against the windows of Dr. Sullivan’s cramped office, Lucas found his nerve. The professor was sorting papers, his tie loosened, when Lucas knocked on the open door.

“Dr. Sullivan,” Lucas said, his voice tight, “can I talk to you? Alone?”

The professor looked up, gesturing to a chair. “Sure, Lucas. What’s this about?”

Lucas didn’t sit. He stood, fidgeting, then blurted, “I want to be your dog.”

Dr. Sullivan’s pen stopped mid-scribble. “My… dog,” he repeated, his tone flat, as if waiting for the punchline.

“Yeah,” Lucas said, rushing forward. “I mean it. I’d follow you around, do what you say, just… be yours. Like a pet. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think I’d be good at it. For you.”

The professor’s face hardened. He set his pen down, leaning back in his chair. “Lucas, this is inappropriate. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to leave. Now.”

Lucas’s stomach dropped. He opened his mouth to explain, but Dr. Sullivan’s glare silenced him. Humiliated, he mumbled an apology and bolted, the door clicking shut behind him. The rejection stung, but it didn’t kill the obsession—it only buried it deeper.

That night, Dr. Sullivan sat alone in his apartment, a glass of whiskey in hand. He couldn’t shake Lucas’s words. At first, he’d been appalled—offended, even. But as the hours ticked by, something else surfaced: loneliness. His life was a cycle of lectures, grading, and empty evenings. No family, few friends, just the hum of his own thoughts. Lucas’s offer, unhinged as it was, had stirred something—a flicker of curiosity, maybe even longing. What would it be like to have someone so devoted, so present? He dismissed the thought, then found it creeping back.

Two days later, after class, Dr. Sullivan caught Lucas in the hallway. “Wait,” he called, his voice clipped. Lucas turned, wary.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dr. Sullivan said, lowering his tone. “What you said—it’s insane. But… I’m willing to try it. Once. Privately. If it’s as ridiculous as I think, that’s the end of it.”

Lucas’s eyes widened, a grin breaking through his nerves. “Really? You mean it?”

“Don’t make me regret this,” the professor muttered.

That evening, in Dr. Sullivan’s dimly lit apartment, Lucas didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees, crawling to the professor’s side, resting his head against his leg. Dr. Sullivan tensed, unsure what to do, then cautiously patted Lucas’s head. “Good… boy?” he said, half-testing the words. Lucas wagged an imaginary tail, letting out a soft, playful bark.

To Dr. Sullivan’s surprise, he laughed—a real, unguarded sound. There was something absurdly charming about it, Lucas’s earnestness cutting through the awkwardness. “Fetch me that book,” he said, pointing to a shelf. Lucas scrambled over on all fours, grabbing it with his teeth and dropping it at the professor’s feet. Dr. Sullivan smirked. “Well, damn. You’re committed.”

What started as an experiment grew into something neither expected. Lucas became a fixture in Dr. Sullivan’s private life. He’d wait by the door when the professor came home, greet him with a nuzzle, and fetch his slippers or a beer without a word. Dr. Sullivan, amused at first, found himself warming to it. He’d give commands—“Sit,” “Stay,” “Come here”—and Lucas obeyed instantly, his eyes bright with purpose. The professor even started keeping a spare blanket for Lucas to curl up on by the couch.

Elliot Kane was a name that lit up marquees and magazine covers—a 32-year-old actor with chiseled features, tousled black hair, and a smoldering intensity that had made him Hollywood’s go-to heartthrob. He’d starred in blockbusters as brooding detectives, charming rogues, and tragic heroes, but behind the red-carpet smiles, Elliot harbored a secret: he was gay, and he’d spent his career carefully guarding that truth from the world.

One night, after a long day of dodging paparazzi, Elliot scrolled through his Instagram DMs, deleting the usual flood of thirst traps and fan gushing. Then one message caught his eye—simple, unassuming, from a guy named Ryan: “Hey, loved you in Shadow Line. That scene with the lighter? Killer. Also, fellow sci-fi nerd here—Blade Runner or 2001?” Intrigued by the lack of over-the-top flattery, Elliot typed back, “Thanks, man. Tough call, but Blade Runner. You?”

What started as a casual exchange about movies spiraled into daily chats. Ryan, a 29-year-old graphic designer from Pasadena, was sharp-witted and grounded, with a goofy charm that disarmed Elliot. They bonded over a shared love of old synth music, obscure comics, and greasy diner food. After weeks of texting, Ryan suggested meeting up. “No pressure,” he wrote. “Just two nerds grabbing burgers.” Elliot hesitated—fans could be unpredictable—but something about Ryan felt safe. He said yes.

Their first hangout at a hole-in-the-wall diner was easy, electric. Ryan’s hazel eyes sparkled when he laughed, and Elliot found himself loosening up, the weight of his public persona slipping away. Soon, they were meeting regularly—late-night drives, movie marathons at Ryan’s apartment, quiet hikes where no one would spot them. The chemistry was undeniable, and Elliot’s guarded heart started to crack open. He’d never let himself fall for a guy before, but Ryan’s warmth was pulling him in.

One evening, sprawled on Ryan’s couch after a Star Wars binge, Ryan grinned mischievously and tossed a popcorn kernel at Elliot. “Fetch, pup!” he teased. Elliot laughed, swatting it away, but Ryan kept going, ruffling Elliot’s hair and cooing, “Who’s a good boy?” in an exaggerated tone. Elliot rolled his eyes, but the playful affection stirred something unfamiliar—something thrilling.

A few days later, over beers on Ryan’s patio, Ryan got quiet, then said, “Okay, weird confession time. You know how I’ve been calling you ‘pup’? I’m… kinda into puppy play. Like, roleplaying as a dog and owner. It’s a kink thing, but it’s also just fun for me.” Elliot blinked, caught off guard. Ryan rushed on, “I don’t mean to freak you out! It’s just… you’d make a cute pup, you know?” He flashed a lopsided grin, but his cheeks were pink.

Elliot’s mind raced. He’d never heard of puppy play, and the idea sounded absurd—crawling around, pretending to be a dog? But Ryan’s earnestness softened the weirdness. “I don’t get it,” Elliot admitted. “What’s the appeal?”

“It’s like letting go,” Ryan said. “No stress, no expectations—just play. And for me, taking care of a ‘pup’ is sweet, you know? Intimate.” He paused, then added, “You’re an actor. Think of it as a role. No pressure—if you hate it, we stop.”

Elliot chewed his lip. He’d spent his life acting, slipping into other skins. Maybe this wasn’t so different. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll try it. But if I look ridiculous, you’re buying me dinner.”

Ryan lit up. He grabbed a spare belt from his closet, fashioned it into a makeshift collar, and knelt in front of Elliot. “Ready, pup?” Elliot nodded, awkward but curious, and dropped to his knees. Ryan scratched behind his ears, murmuring, “Good boy.” Elliot barked hesitantly, feeling silly—until Ryan’s gentle petting melted his self-consciousness. For the first time in years, he felt unscripted, free.

They started small—Elliot scampering around Ryan’s living room, chasing a thrown sock, nuzzling Ryan’s hand for praise. The more they did it, the more natural it felt. Ryan would snap his fingers and say, “Sit,” and Elliot would obey, grinning as Ryan fed him a treat (usually a pretzel). Soon, Elliot was bounding around on all fours in Ryan’s fenced backyard, barking happily while Ryan tugged a leash they’d upgraded from the belt. It was intimate, playful, and oddly liberating—Elliot could shed the polished star and just be.

Trouble came one crisp October morning. They were in Ryan’s yard—Elliot in a leather collar, leash in Ryan’s hand—when a paparazzo perched in a tree across the street snapped a photo. By noon, the image was everywhere: “Elliot Kane on a Leash—What’s He Into?” The internet exploded with memes, speculation, and crude jokes. Elliot’s phone buzzed with panicked calls from his agent, but he just sat on Ryan’s couch, head in his hands.

“I’m screwed,” he muttered. “They’ll crucify me.”

Ryan squeezed his shoulder. “Or… you could own it. You’re happy like this, right? So tell them.”

Elliot looked at him, heart pounding. Coming out as gay was one thing—he’d been inching toward it with Ryan—but as a pup? Yet Ryan’s steady gaze gave him courage. That night, Elliot posted a statement on Instagram: “Yeah, that’s me. I’m gay, I’ve got a boyfriend, and I’m into puppy play. It’s weird, it’s me, and I’m done hiding.” He hit send, braced for backlash.

The response was a tidal wave—some hate, sure, but more support than he’d dreamed. Fans cheered his honesty; queer communities embraced him as a icon. And Hollywood? It adapted. Within months, Elliot landed a role as a loyal hound in a fantasy epic, bounding across sets with a tail prosthetic and a bark that critics called “startlingly authentic.” More dog roles followed—a gruff stray in a drama, a goofy pup in a comedy—and Elliot nailed them all, his ease in the skin of a canine unmatched.

Inspired by @objectifiedhimbo

Ryan had been in love with Troy since high school and would do anything for him. When he confessed his love for Troy after they both graduated college, Troy let Ryan know that he was straight, and didn’t see him that way. Ryan was devastated by this news, but they still remained friends. However, when Troy’s beloved dog Buddy died, Troy confided in Ryan the most.

On one drunken night Troy started petting Ryan’s head, stroking his blond hair, the same color of Buddy. Troy remarked “I wish you could be my dog, you’re such a good friend”. Jokingly, Ryan decided to get down on all fours and barked for Troy, and even licked Troy’s face.

“Once I pull in the garage, we’re no longer equals,” John told him matter of factly, “got it?”

“Got it.”

The door seemed to take forever to open. Evan could feel himself getting hard under his jeans and boxers. They rolled inside, and John shut off the car and closed the garage door. “Pups don’t wear clothes or have personal belongings.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. “Strip naked, shut off your phone, and put everything in that locker by the door.”

Evan got out of the car and did as he was told, and then John put an electronic padlock on the locker. “This is a time lock. It won’t open for two weeks.”

Evan nodded, “yes Sir.”

“And that’s the last of your human speech until I say otherwise. Get on all fours before coming inside. Pups don’t stand, speak, or wear human clothing in the house.”

Evan barked as he eagerly dropped to the floor.

“Good boy. Now come see your kennel.” John slapped his palm on his thigh as he entered through the door, beckoning his pup to follow.

As he trotted behind down the hallway, the pup’s heart was pounding with excitement. His cock was hard as a rock, and knocked back and forth against his thighs. This was really happening.

They entered the mostly-empty spare bedroom, where a black steel kennel stood in the corner with a water bowl placed inside. John leaned down, fastened a collar around the pup’s neck, and clicked a small brass padlock closed.

“Paw.” The pup lifted a hand. John put a mitt on the first hand, and then the second, and locked each. With the click of every lock, the pup got more and more turned on. John put a bottle of poppers in front of the pup, and he took a long, deep inhale. His heart raced and he was nearly trembling with a rush of excitement. He was falling deeper into headspace as he felt a tail plug pressed against, and then into, his hole.

John took a step back and admired his work. He opened the door to the kennel and the pup eagerly dove inside onto the plush matting. John closed the door and clicked yet another lock closed.

“Welcome home, boy.”

The pup wagged excitedly and let out an involuntary bark that surprised even him. This was going to be a great way to spend his vacation.

John went back to the garage. He tugged on the dummy lock he’d made a show of putting on the locker, and it freely slid open. He removed Evan’s clothing, wallet, and phone from the locker, and walked straight to the backyard, tossing them in the burn pit and pouring gasoline on them.