My Puppy
I wrote this short story for my anniversary with my pup, Dagda. I figured some of you might enjoy it too!
I stroke your face softly, my hand rubbing against your beard. I look down into your gorgeous eyes, and see the small smile on your face. "I love you, my puppy," I say, and then I push your face to the side, and bite your neck, hard.
You scream, and my cock twitches. I feel the blood pound in my head as I bite harder, my teeth digging through your flesh. You whimper, and in your pathetic sounds of pain, incoherent though they are, I hear it:I'm yours. I belong to you.
It drives me to bite harder, and your knees smack against the ground as you fall to your place before me. Your whimpers become more desperate, more plaintive, and I press down one last time, my teeth digging into the hard muscle of your shoulder--which has grown, I notice with pride.
Finally, I relent. "You're my puppy," I say.
Your breaths come ragged. You try to control them, but your body is not your own. I have seen to that. One by one your breath slows, then your eyes clear. Eventually, you're able to squeak out, "Yes, Master, I'm your puppy."
"Good puppy," I say, then I pull your face into my belly. Your nose fits into my belly button, and your face squishes against my fat until you hit my firm abs beneath.
I hold you there as you struggle for breath, your lips quivering against my belly. Yet you wrap your arms around me and pull yourself deeper into me, eager to be completely in my power, completely mine.
I feel the suction against my belly as your lungs betray you, fighting for air. But I hold you tight just long enough for you to know that your life is in my hands, now. You live because I will it.
I pull you off, and you gasp for air. I kiss the top of your bald head, enjoying my lips against your skin. "Master feels so good, eh? What a lucky pup to be able to serve me."
"Yes, Master," you say. "I'm so lucky, Master."
Even your voice makes my cock twitch, that beautiful submission with its reverence and awe. I could listen to you talk for hours, and often have, babbling about video games I'll never play and movies I'll never watch. I just enjoy the sound of your happy voice, knowing that it's mine.
"Good puppy," I say. I grab the sides of your face and lower it to my cock. Eager, you open your mouth, and I press my cock inside. Your tongue rubs against the underside of my cock and I moo as my neck tingles. I keep pressing forward until my cock hits the back of your throat, and you gag. I love the little retch, knowing you're taking me as deep as you can, giving me as much pleasure as you can. And you give me so much pleasure.
I pull back long enough for you to breathe, then slam my cock into you. My belly slaps your forehead and my hips strike your chin. My whole body shivers from your throat and tongue, and my head rolls back and my eyes close as all I can think is, Mine, mine, mine...
You retch again, and I pull out as you fall to all fours. "Good puppy," I say, stroking the side of your face again. "Such a good puppy." My fingers touch your beard so delicately, caressing every strand of hair, knowing that it's part of you. Part of my puppy.
You look up at me, so happy and fulfilled, and my heart catches. I almost want to stop the scene here and just hold you until tomorrow, until biological necessity forces us to pursue that paycheque. But I know holding you will feel even better later, when I can rub your belly--my milktank--and know I've made it swell while I whisper in your ear that you made me cum so hard.
"Time to know your place, pup."
You want to know it; you need to know it. You scramble and scamper onto the bed, stopping ass up and hanging over the side. I grab my paddle and run my hand along its surface, feeling my name engraved into it, knowing it'll be imprinted on your ass soon.
I pull my arm back and swing; the paddle smacks into your ass with a thwack that makes my ears ring. You whimper, but don't move.
"You're my puppy," I growl.
I swing again, just as hard. My hand vibrates against the handle as it hits your ass, and I think I see the art of us on my wall shake.
"Yes, Master, I'm your puppy."
I swing again, and despite the fact that my voice has stopped rugby games, the paddle almost drowns it out as I shout, "You belong to me!"
You yelp and cry, falling onto your belly, unable to control your body from the pain. But before I can even think of giving you a break, you're back on all fours, whimpering, "I belong to you, Master."
I lose myself in the rhythm of my swings, my heart pounding in my chest. Your muscles flex as you brace for the paddle, and I'm so proud at how hard you've worked on them. I'm so proud of such a strong puppy, inside and out. Working hard on your body, your mental health, your service.... You've struggled so much, I know--endured abuse and isolation and pain, been taken advantage of and mocked--but when I look at you, all I see is your strength, your courage, your adventurousness, your resilience. And I know it all belongs to me.
"Time for your reward, puppy," I say. "Master's going to breed you."
You bark and lay beneath me. I straddle your red ass, proud of how much of a paddling you took. I trace my brand on your back, my horns framing the words, Property of Master Rugger.
"You're my puppy," I say. I feel almost silly repeating it, but it's all that fills me, all I can think, all I could ever know.
You bark again, wagging your ass. It's so round, padded from all the deadlifts that I know you'd often rather skip. But you do them anyway. Because that's the determined pup you are.
I grab the lube and begin stroking my cock. It aches to be inside you, inside this wonderful and amazing puppy who belongs to me, who makes me so happy.
I push my cock into you and you whimper. I'm thick, I know, and I don't give you time to prepare. But I love forcing my way into you, feeling you open around me. Another reminder that you're here for my pleasure. And you're going to give me so much.
I push down on your head, forcing it into the pillow, then start fucking you. I fuck you good and hard, the way my puppy needs to be fucked. I slam my hips into your tender red ass, and your sphincter squeezes my cock. Your strong back flexes, and I reach around and squeeze my milktank, my fingers appreciating how nice and soft it is from all that milk I've pumped into you. Yet as they dig into you, my fingers find the strong muscles beneath from all the training you've done for me.
I feel my orgasm coming already, and I want to fill you so badly, fill every part of you with me. Fill every part of this beautiful, strong, sexy, passionate, energetic, intelligent, generous, funny, devoted, disciplined, loving, sweet, fun puppy who I love and who is mine, mine, mine, mine...
A giant, roaring moo rumbles up from deep in my belly fills the entire room--could fill a stadium. My cock is hot as it pumps you full of my cum and my whole body tenses and relaxes, tenses and relaxes, quivering in pleasure and need. My throat goes hoarse, the moo raspy as my cock empties the last of its cum into you.
Finally, I collapse. My body squeezes against yours as my head rests on your temple. "Such a good puppy," I whisper. "You made Master cum so hard, and I love you so much."
You bark, and I smile. The smile is inadequate to express the love I have for you, how everything feels so right with you beneath me. With my deflating cock in your ass and my hand stroking your side, I couldn't imagine a better life. "I love you with all my heart, my puppy."
I come to, my head still resting on yours.
"Good morning, Master." You have a sneaky grin on your face, pushing the line of brattiness without earning a spanking. But I might give you one anyway, just to show you you're mine.
Not that you'd complain.
"Morning, puppy. How long was I out?"
"Fifteen minutes or so," you say.
"Fifteen minutes on my favourite pillow," I say, kissing your forehead. "Bliss."
You bark, small and playful.
I roll off you, and hold you in my arms. My belly fits into the small of your back perfectly, and I kiss the top of your head, my tongue sneaking out to touch the skin there. My hands rub my milktank, enjoying the softness and firmness there.
"Such a big, full milktank of mine," I say.
You jiggle your belly. "Nice and big for you, Master."
"Good puppy," I say and kiss you again.
We lay like that for another twenty minutes, just enjoying the touch of each others' bodies, and how we fit together perfectly. It is wonderful.
But there are other things we must do.
"Time to get to work, puppy," I say.
"One more hug, Master?"
I laugh, and roll you over. I kiss you, hard, my tongue filling your mouth, your bottom lip sucked into mine. Then I pull your head into my chest and stroke it softly. My hand travels down your neck and back, touching every part of you it can, possessive yet tender. Then repeats.
"Ready now, pup?"
"Yes, Master."
I crawl out of bed, make my way to my office chair, and take out my tablet--a wonderful present from you. I check back over what I wrote yesterday, then continue writing. My pen moves slowly across the tablet at first, but picks up speed.
Then my pen stops. What will happen next? As I think of what the characters want and how they would go about getting it, my eyes glance over to you. You come out of the washroom and place my water on my desk beside me, then tidy my room. You put away the clean clothes, start the laundry, then go to the kitchen to make me a sandwich and put in on my desk, in case I get hungry.
Your daily chores completed, you lie beneath my hooves, and rest.
I lift my leg and place it on your belly, and the answer to my novel comes to me. It often does, with you beneath my hooves. My emotions feel steadier, my pen surer, my mind calmer. I know that you're mine, and that I will take care of you for as long as I live. And I feel that devotion and love from you too, as though it coursed through my leg and into my body.
One day, I want to give you this life. A life where you do nothing but lie at my hooves, obey my every order, serve me, and see the smile you put on my face. A life where the only stress is worrying about whether I'm going to make it home or not, watching my live location on your phone. A life where you can forget everything but your complete and total devotion to me, your brother Kale at your side.
It makes me so happy to think of it. And I go back to my writing, agonizing over every paragraph, every sentence, every word. It is hard, becoming a writer. It is so hard.
But I am equal to the task. I have worked, and struggled, and learned, and struggled, and learned again. I am determined, my puppy. For both of us.
But I know, no matter how good a writer I am, life can get in the way. How many Atwoods, Sapkowskis, and Danielewskis never finished their first novel, or their second? How many languished in their lives, their great novel never leaving their hard drives, exhausted by the stresses of life?
They didn't have a wonderful puppy to support them, to make their lives easier by cleaning, cooking, serving, and lying at their hooves with that silent, strong support and devotion that keeps me writing--for me, and for you.
I look down at you, at my hoof resting on my milk tank, still swollen from the load I put in you.
I smile.
It is a small, peaceful smile, looking much the same as the thousands of smiles I have given to thousands of people. Polite, patient smiles, all of them--except this one. This one has a swell of passion--of love, care, and the need to protect my property--in my heart, my belly, and my mind. It fills every inch of me, as though I could hold nothing more. It is love, pure and complete. I could not imagine anything I could want more. And I can only think of one thing to say that can capture this overwhelming joy and love:
"You're my puppy."