Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2017 10:50:08 -0700
From: Kirk McCorkle <avunculous@gmail.com>
Subject: Be My Dog, Part 3

Be My Dog

Part 3

I Was A Pizza Guy's Dog

by Kirk McCorkle

MM bd feet sneakers spit spanking

This is a work of erotic fiction. All participants are fictional, and are
over eighteen years of age. If reading erotic fiction about adult male
participants that involves sex, sexual servitude, bondage, and sneakers is
illegal wherever you are, don't read any further. Consider giving up
reading altogether, because who knows what they'll outlaw next. I welcome
your feedback, and hope you enjoy the story.

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__________________________

My Master arrived at my door with a pizza at 8:45pm on Thursday the 16th of
May. I still have the receipt.

I'd worked late, and I'd called to order the pizza before I left for home,
and I beat it there by about twelve seconds. I saw him pull up just as I
was getting the door unlocked. Everybody always heads to the other half of
the duplex, so I waited until he got out of the car to wave to him.

I wish I could say that I noticed him at all, but I had a briefcase and a
guitar case in one hand, my keys in the other. I was starved, and I had
about eight million things to do before I could get any sleep. He got out
of the car, I beckoned him over, I went inside. Put my stuff down, got my
wallet out, opened the door before he had a chance to knock.

"Hey," he said.

"Yeah, hang on, I've got it here," I said, digging through my wallet.

"Sure."

I handed him the card, and he gave me the receipt to sign. I scrawled my
name. "Have you got any peppers or anything?"

"I've got parmesan cheese and peppers. Anything else you'll have to beg
for."

In the past few months I've been working on mindfulness meditation as a way
of reducing my stress. Basically, you just get better at being aware of
where you are, and when you are, and letting the worries about the future
and the burdens of the past get back into perspective.

I was suddenly very, very present in this moment.

I looked at the pizza guy and actually saw him for the first time. He was
slim, fit but not what you'd call buff. A muscular twink. Nice, friendly
smile. He couldn't have been more than twenty. For a second I considered it.

I handed the receipt back to him. "My last Master could have wrapped you
around his little finger," I said.

He looked me up and down. "Maybe. But he couldn't keep you."

He handed me my copy of the receipt, turned and walked off.

I gaped after him a moment, then shut the door. The pizza was burning the
crap out of my hand, so I hurried it over to the kitchen counter while
trying to figure out why the pizza guy thought I was a sub.

And of course it was the sticker on my bumper, the master/slave pride
thing. A symbol so obscure that most people would never look twice at it.
I'd put it on when I was with Brad, and was having fun with being open and
out about things, and hadn't thought about it since.

The pizza guy, then, was a dom. Or thought he was. At least he'd done some
homework. The whole interaction was weird and creepy, and I briefly
considered calling the guy's work and complaining about it, but ended up
letting it drop.

It was good pizza. I finished off one too many slices and got back to work.
The love theme for this card-based multiplayer RPG wasn't going to write
itself.

I didn't think about it much for the rest of the night. Occasional brief
fantasies, snapshots of the lean frame of the pizza guy standing over me as
I knelt at his feet, him tying me to my bed, that sort of thing. The usual.
I guess I was trying to figure out how it would work. I love the idea of a
man bigger than I am overpowering me, forcing me to be his. But a skinny
guy like that...

So I kept going over it in my mind as I explored the depths of my
understanding of E flat locrian in search of something, anything that would
sound like a recognizable melody.

The next day was my usual Wednesday lunacy of teaching lessons in the
morning, followed by an hour commute to the office. It's totally not a
studio, of course, because the landlord was very adamant about that. And
the sound treatment will come right off the walls. Theoretically.

Colin was already there, working on the mastering for three tracks we'd
gotten finished. I left him alone and checked email, then did a sweep
though our social media stuff. Nothing alarming.

After Colin's usual freakout about how far behind we were, we got down to
work and made some actual progress on a couple of the character themes.
There was a warrior character who was going to die just before the
climactic battle, so she had to go from a big bold major key piece to a
sad, vengeful farewell theme, and then we had to work it into the music for
the big boss fight.

We nuked stuff for lunch, and Colin had just finished freaking out about
the upcoming deadline for the opening credits which we'd finished three
weeks ago, and he asked me how my night was. Meaning how much had I gotten
done, of course.

"Well, the pizza guy made a pass at me," I told him.

"No shit?" Colin was suddenly paying attention. "Was he hot?"

"Kind of." I shrugged and ate noodles. "He wanted me to beg him for
condiments."

"That might just be their new policy."

"I hadn't considered that. It was a bit creepy, though. I guess he saw a
sub/dom sticker on my car, but man, he was so brash about it," I said.

Colin snickered at me. "Yeah. A bold dom. Horrors. What did he say to you?"

"Just that. Beg me for peppers. I told him to get lost."

"Why?" Colin asked. "Do you have a surplus of doms knocking on your door
these days?"

"No, it was just weird, him just approaching me like that." I tossed my
cardboard food container in the trash. Mmm-mmm good. "Let's get back to
work."

"What was he supposed to do?" Colin asked. "Not say anything? Meekly
approach you and ask to talk about limits and safewords? Or make a pass?"

"That wasn't a pass," I said. "That was just creepy."

"Have you ever had a date that didn't start out on the internet?"

I considered a moment. "No."

"In the real world, people have to approach each other awkwardly." Colin
turned to the piano. "Melinda thought she was going to have to mace me."

"I'm pretty sure she's still thinking about it."

We got most of what we had to do finished up before Colin had to get home.
His wife had instituted a strict dinnertime deadline after our first
crunchtime had lasted sixteen months and caused Colin to end up in the ER
with heart palpitations. He usually waited until she was asleep and snuck
downstairs to work.

I stuck around the studio for a little while, getting the stuff we'd done
labeled and backing up the day's work, then headed home. I stopped by the
dispensary and picked up an eighth on a whim, and grabbed a chicken parm
from the brilliantly-located sandwich place next door. So my arms were full
when I got to my door again.

There was a flyer for the pizza place tucked into my doorframe.

The phone number was crossed off, and another number was written above it.

I grabbed the flyer and stuffed it in a back pocket. I fumbled my keys out,
got inside and got my stuff put down. Then I spent a good ten minutes
staring at the flyer and pacing around the house.

I had to admit, it turned me on. He was going after me, no hesitation, no
doubt, he wanted me. And he wasn't being a dick about it, which was rare.
He was just... giving me the option.

I made my way through about half of the chicken parmesan sandwich before I
realized that my cock had been hard since I saw the flyer.

There's really no arguing with my cock when it gets like that.

I dialed the number.

"Mike's pizza. How can we hurt you?"

That stopped me dead a moment. I considered hanging up.

"Would you like to place an order?" His voice was a caricature of what a
sexy man's voice sounds like, heavy on the low end, a little bit hoarse. It
worked.

"Are you the guy who delivered to me the other night?" I asked.

"Yeah." Now he sounded neutral, kind of guarded.

"I've been thinking about you."

"Good." Now he was back to being cocky again.

"What are you into?" I didn't know what the hell else to ask. He didn't
seem like want-to-go-see-a-movie material.

"Using you. Tying you up. Making you beg. Making you my dog."

Well, that turned me on. I took a deep breath. "I like bondage, domination,
some pain but not much. No permanent markings or injuries, no blood, no
scat, no barebacking. My safeword is red, my slow word is yellow."

"I'm going to force my way into your house, overpower you and tie you up.
You're going to suck my cock, and I'm going to fuck you up the ass, with a
condom on, of course." He put a little barb into the 'of course' that made
me shiver. "I'm going to spank your ass, and it's going to hurt. I'm going
to make you lick my feet. And I'm going to put a collar on you and make you
bark for me. Are you good with all that?"

Oh hell yes. "Yes, Sir."

"We'll have your order to you in an hour or less. Thanks for calling Mike's
pizza."

He hung up.

So there I was, alone with my cooling chicken sandwich, in the house where
I was about to be... well... overpowered. By a guy about five inches
shorter than me.

I dithered around cleaning things up for a bit. I went into my closet and
dug out the cardboard box with what I had left of the bondage equipment. A
couple of collars, a mismatched set of cuffs, a buttplug and a ball gag. A
couple of half-empty bottles of lube that were probably not very lubey
anymore.

I tossed those out and put the rest of the gear in the bedside drawer. I
added a towel, and then on second thought, another. And made sure the lube
was good.

Then I gave myself the opportunity to freak out for a while. I had been
with just a couple of guys since Brad, and neither of them had been
particularly kinky. I'd been being careful, I'd been being good, trying to
find a relationship. But damn, I missed being manhandled. Brad had been
almost my height, and had worked out obsessively, and we'd been able to get
pretty physical.

And I wanted that again, pretty badly. Maybe the pizza guy, whatever he was
built like, could give me a little taste of it again. It wasn't likely, and
it had about an eighty percent chance of being pathetic and weird, but what
the hell.

I dinked around on my keyboard until I heard his car pull up, at which
point I leapt up, looked around, found nine different things I should have
done to clean the place up before he got here, tried doing two of them and
failed.

The doorbell rang.

I opened it. It was him. He was in his work uniform, and he had a pizza box
in one hand.

"Hey," he said.

"Um, hi." I moved aside and let him in, and closed the door behind him.

"That'll be eighteen dollars and twenty-eight cents," he said.

"I, uh, I've got that," I said idiotically, fumbling for my wallet.

"You didn't tip me last time." The look on his face was getting dark.
Menacing.

"Oh shit." I didn't. "I didn't?"

"You didn't." He smiled, and it was foreboding. Not many people can smile
forebodingly, but he pulled it off. "Hurt my feelings."

"I'm sorry, look, I'll tip you double." I had my wallet out.

"I don't want your money." He put the pizza box down on the hallway table.
"I want you to show me you're sorry."

"What do you-?"

"Kiss my feet," he said.

"No fucking way." I crammed my wallet back into my pocket and rose to my
full height. In this part of the apartment, it was just barely possible. "I
didn't even order a pizza. Get the fuck out of my house."

He wasn't phased. "You should kiss my feet and apologize."

"Look, just get out and I won't call your employer. Or the police." I
shoved him.

That turns out to have been a mistake.

His hand snaked out and grabbed mine, but from... above and behind, kind
of? He just wrapped his hand around mine, lifted, turned his body, and the
next thing I knew I was headed towards the floor. I landed hard on the
entryway rug, and lay there gasping. He was kneeling beside me with my arm
in some kind of lock. It didn't hurt, but I could tell that with just a
tiny bit more pressure it was about to.

"Jesus fuck," I muttered.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm green." Holy shit.

He let me go and got up, still between me and the door. In a very calm,
matter of fact voice, he said "Now apologize and kiss my feet."

"No fucking way." I stood up, cradling my arm. "Get the fuck out of my
house."

"Not until you apologize." He was planted in front of my door, arms
crossed, feet wide apart. Not breathing hard, not looking angry. Just
immovable.

Sexiest fucking thing I'd ever seen.

"Get the fuck out," I yelled, and threw a punch at him. It was a long,
looping haymaker, a stage-combat punch. If he didn't react well, I was
going to pull it well before it hit him.

He whirled underneath it somehow while catching it in one of his hands, and
before I knew it I was over his shoulder and he was throwing me across the
back of the couch. I hit the couch cushions on my back and then rolled off,
smacking into the coffee table. The remotes went clattering over the floor.

He came around the couch and waited for me to get back up. I pushed the
coffee table away and took another swing at him. This time I wasn't quite
as careful.

It didn't matter. He just moved aside slightly, let my fist go past, and
then caught it when I was at full extension and pulled.

Completely off balance, I fell to my knees, and then he turned and pulled
and I was on the ground again. My arm was pinned behind me, and I couldn't
move without doing myself some damage.

His foot was right in front of my face. He was wearing very old grey Nike
running shoes. They'd seen better days. A lot of them.

"Kiss it," he said.

I struggled, but any movement put pressure on my elbow and my wrist, and
caused immediate, serious pain. I couldn't move my face more than three
inches from his sneaker.

I'd never had a thing for feet. When I'd played with Brad he'd had the big
engineer boots that he liked me to kiss every so often, but it wasn't a big
thing with him.

But these were just a pizza guy's battered kicks. Smelly, grungy, saturated
with the sweat of hundreds of nights out in the city.

I was salivating.

"Fuck you." I tried to growl it.

He moved his foot closer. "Kiss it and say you're sorry." He tweaked my arm
a tiny bit.

I howled in pain, overselling it a lot.

He moved his foot to about a half inch in front of my face. It was huge in
my field of vision, and I could smell him. Sweat, musk, the animal smell of
a man. It was intoxicating. I breathed it in.

He gave another tweak to my arm, and I overreacted again. "Aaaaargh! Jesus,
stop! I'm sorry!"

And with that I kissed his foot.

The logo was some sort of vinyl, the mesh under it was polyester, the
leather by his laces was worn and frayed. And it was warm, the whole thing
was warm, and it was... I don't know how to say this. It was inhabited. He
lived in it, it was his, in the most intimate way possible. I kissed it
again.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"What are you sorry for?" He asked.

"I'm sorry for not tipping you."

He tweaked my arm again. I screamed. I was really going overboard on this.
"I'm sorry... for being rude to you?"

"Kiss it again and tell me why you're sorry," he said.

I kissed his sneaker again. Warmth, his smell. That feeling of submission
started to wash over me, the beginnings of surrender.

"I'm sorry for being rude to you. I'm sorry for disrespecting you."

He relaxed the pressure on my arm a tiny fraction. "That's right. What are
you going to do to make up for it?"

"I'll, um..." I went blank. I kissed his shoe again, pressing my lips up
against it until I had an answer, smelling him. "I'll kiss your feet."

"You're already doing that. What else?" He gave my arm a little wrench,
sending a bolt of pain down through my shoulder. My face was pressed hard
against the floor, his Nike looming huge before me.

"I'll..." I was already apologizing. "I'll suck your cock."

"I knew it," he said. "Fucking cocksucker."

My cock was so fucking hard. "What the fuck do you want, then?" I yelled.

"You think you're so much better than me," he said. "I want you on your
knees, begging for my cock. I want you panting like a dog, your ass in the
air like you're dying for me to fuck you. For two hours, I want you to be
my dog."

"Fuck you!" I tried to writhe out of his grasp, but I think I would have
had to break my own arm to do it. He just stood there implacably.

"I wasn't asking."

Suddenly he shifted position, and now my arm was behind my back and he was
kneeling on top of me, and the next thing I knew my hands were being
cuffed. The steel snapped around my wrists, binding them tight.

He stepped off of me and backed away as I thrashed on my living room floor.
I rolled over, sat up, then got to one knee. He just stepped behind me and
put one foot on my calf. I couldn't stand.

>From behind me he grabbed my head in his hands and put his lips right next
to my ear. In that deep, husky voice that had sounded so cheesy over the
phone, he said, "You're going to be my dog, whether you like it or not."

I swear his voice was spiking down at 50 hertz or so. He was getting
subsonics. And I was getting goosebumps.

He turned me and shoved me face-down onto the couch. Keeping me pinned
there with one hand, he reached underneath me and started undoing my belt.

I struggled and kicked and cursed on the couch, flailing about
ineffectively as he got me unbuttoned and unzipped. Then he was pulling my
pants down to my knees.

He got up off of me, and I lay there panting a moment. Then I heaved myself
up off of the couch and tried to get to my feet, but my jeans were in the
way. I started trying to kick my shoes off.

Mike stepped in front of me, towering over me. He grabbed my head in his
hands. "Are you going to shut the fuck up and be my dog?"

"Fuck you," I said. And I spat at him.

He got that grin on his face again. Like he'd been waiting for me to do
something dumb.

Before I knew what was happening he thrust his fingers into my mouth and
pried my jaw open. His other hand was on the back of my head, and I
couldn't get out of his grip.

He didn't seem to be in any hurry as he built up a mouthful of spit. I
writhed in his grasp, making animal grunting sounds, but he easily kept me
on my knees. Then he leaned in close, opened his mouth, and let a glob of
spit slide out.

It hung in the air for a moment before it descended towards my mouth, and
then it was in me, all over my tongue, and I coughed and hacked and spat to
get it out.

He grinned down at me, and spat again.

It tasted so fucking good. Jesus, this kid's spit tasted like caramel.

I whipped my head back and forth, but he kept his grip, and spit in me one
more time before he let go. I fell back onto my haunches, making disgusted
sounds.

He took his shirt off.

He was one of those guys who had probably been skinny once, but had started
working out early. He was compact muscle stretched over a perfect frame,
lean and wiry and cut and so fucking hot I officially no longer cared what
the hell he did to me.

"There's some gear in the nightstand," I said.

"Who the fuck asked you?" He grabbed my face and pushed me over. I fell on
my back on the rug.

He stepped over me and got the pizza box from the table by the door. He
brought it over to where I was struggling on the floor, opened it up and
showed me.

A full set of cuffs, laid out flat. A collar. Chains. Padlocks. A ball gag.
And a leather dog mask.

"You ordered the meat lover's special, right?" He asked with a depraved
smile.

I kicked out at him with my legs, but he dodged it easily. He grabbed the
collar and put the pizza box down on the couch, then stepped on my chest.
With his foot pinning me to the floor, he looked down at me, collar in hand.

"What should I call you?" He said to himself. "Rex? Spot?"

I tried to roll out from under his foot, but he just put more of his weight
on it. "Fuck you! I'm not your dog!"

"Charlie? Rover?" He moved suddenly, taking his foot off my chest, stepping
over me and sitting down on my chest. With my arms cuffed behind me there
was nothing I could do to get him off of me.

"How about Porkchop? Would you like that? Huh, Porkchop?" He was pinching
my cheeks, smacking my face playfully. I tried to turn my head to get away
from him, but I was completely helpless.

"Or Fido. C'mere, Fido!"

I tried giving him a grimace of hatred, but I'm afraid it came out looking
more like a pathetic whinge of discomfort.

"Wait, I've got it," he said, a note of childish delight in his voice.
"Prince! Come here, Prince! C'mere, boy!"

"Fuck you," I said. "Get the fuck off of me."

"Oh, Prince, you're so cute," he said. And he put the collar around my neck.

Now, this wasn't a collaring or anything, this was just a play session, and
collars mean a lot of different things to different people under different
circumstances, and I know not to make a bigger deal of something than it
really is.

But when that leather slid around my neck, when his fingers fastened it
onto me, I was looking in his eyes, and something happened. It wasn't love
at first sight or any such bullshit, there wasn't a string section or choir
or harps. There was just a connection. We were on the same wavelength. It
felt good.

"Prince. Want to go for a walk? Walkies?" He had a cruel, happy smile on
his face.

"Fuck you. You're a fucking lunatic," I tried to buck him off my chest.
"Help! Help! Somebody help!"

I wasn't yelling particularly loud, but he clamped a hand over my mouth and
reached for the ball gag. "Shut the fuck up," he said. "Dogs don't talk."

With the gag in one hand, he paused and said, "Snap your fingers for a
safeword."

I nodded, and then he pulled his hand away from my mouth and crammed the
ball gag in. I whipped my head from side to side trying to keep the gag
out, but he got a grip on my face, pried my jaw open and shoved it in.
Before I knew it, he had it buckled on me.

"There you go, boy," he said. "Much better."

Then that smile came back, and he leaned in close and spit on the ball gag.
He held my head still while the spit ran down the gag into my mouth.

"Now," he said, "Let's get you trained."

He got up off of me, and went to grab the pizza box. I rolled over and
tried to get to my knees, but before I could get up he sat down on my ass,
facing my feet. I tried to buck him off, but he didn't budge. He grabbed my
feet and pulled my shoes off. And I could swear he paused and sniffed one,
but I wasn't looking at the time. When he had them off, he pulled my pants
and underwear and socks off. Then he strapped the leather cuffs around my
ankles.

He ran his fingers over my sole when he was down there, and I, of course,
spazzed out, giggling, squirming, the whole bit. The little chuckle that he
gave just then is probably the most evil thing I'd ever heard in my life.

He ran a chain around my thigh, and locked it tight. Then he pulled my leg
up so my foot was up near my ass, and I heard the click of another lock.

He'd chained my ankle to my thigh.

He did the same with the other leg in a few seconds, and then got off my
ass. Literally.

Then he was putting the leather cuffs on my wrists and taking the police
cuffs off of me. Which was nice, because they hurt. The leather was much
more comfortable. He pulled my arms up over my head and pulled my shirt
off, then locked my wrist cuffs together in front of me.

So now I could get on all fours. I got up, and then I got to my knees and
started trying to unbuckle the gag.

"Hey! Bad dog!" he said, and smacked me across the ass.

I lunged at him with my bound hands, and he dodged me easily, then gave me
a slight push. I was off balance, of course, since I was on my knees with
my feet bound behind me, and I fell on my side.

"Very bad dog," he said, and his voice just sort of crawled up my spine. It
dripped with a venomous delight in the pain he was about to inflict. I
actually shivered.

He took off one of his shoes, knelt beside me, and started beating my ass
with it.

The rubber sole hit my ass like the paddle from hell. I could feel the
tread each time it impacted on my flesh, could feel the marks it was
leaving on me. I thrashed on the floor, yelling into the rubber of the ball
gag, my cock so hard I'm shocked I didn't shoot right then.

"Bad. Dog," he was saying. "You're going to learn to be a good. You're
going to obey me. Take my orders. Take my cock." He kept swinging his
sneaker at me, branding me with its tread. I tried to crawl away from the
pain, tried to get to him, but he just kept hold of me and kept spanking.

"You ready to be a good dog, Prince? You ready to do whatever I tell you?
Just bark. Bark for me, puppy."

My ass was ablaze, my knees were sore, I couldn't overpower this guy even
when I wasn't tied up. But I couldn't help it. I loved that he could
manhandle me, put me in my place. I tried to heave myself to my hands and
knees.

He pushed me over effortlessly, and started beating my ass even faster. Now
I wasn't just pretending to struggle to get away, this fucking hurt. I was
going to be bruised in the morning. But damn if it wasn't making my little
doggy cock harder than hell.

"Arf!" I said. "Arf! Arf!" It came out more like bleuargph through the gag,
but my Master got the message.

"There you go, puppy," he said. He'd stopped beating me immediately. "You
ready to be my dog?"

I let out a reluctant "Arf."

"Good boy." He gave me a playful swat on my ass, which felt like being hit
with a cattle prod, and opened the pizza box. He took out the dog mask.

"You like your face, puppy?" He asked. He was being playful, but with an
undertone of unmistakable threat.

"Arf!" It was a little weak.

"Well, if you want it, you should beg me for it. Come on. Up, boy."

I got up onto my hands and knees, and then I knelt in front of him. My feet
were bound to my thighs, my ass was a bright shade of crimson, my hands
were cuffed together, and I had his collar on. And he was towering above
me, the pizza guy, my Master. I begged, making little whimpering sounds.

"Good dog," he said, and petted my head. Then he put the mask over my face
and snapped it behind my head. It was leather, a kind of half-mask that
left my jaw free, but had kind of a snout over my nose. Surprisingly
comfortable. Except for the ball gag, which was making me drool.

"There you go, puppy. You look beautiful," he said.

A little thrill of pride shot through me.

"You should thank me for it."

I cocked my head to the side, puzzled.

"Kiss my feet."

Fuck it, he'd broken me. I fell to the ground and put my face to his feet.
With the ball gag in I couldn't really do much kissing, or much to my
frustration licking, but my Master got the point.

"Good dog." His voice was triumphant, but there was something almost tender
to it too.

I heard a length of chain, and then he was threading a chain through my
collar. I thought it was going to be a leash, but then he had his key ring
out and he was unlocking the padlock on my wrist cuffs.

He put the ends of the chain through the hasp of the padlock and clicked it
closed. My hands were bound together about eight inches from my throat.

"Okay, puppy, let's go for a walk." My Master took a couple of steps
towards the kitchen. "C'mere, Prince."

With my feet tied up behind me and my hands bound to my neck, I wasn't
exactly maneuverable. I tottered after him as best I could. He stayed a
step ahead of me as he led me around the kitchen a couple of times, back to
the living room, and then into the bedroom.

He paused for a moment in the bedroom door, then led me in. He sat on the
edge of the bed and waited for me to crawl over to him. He reached out and
grabbed my collar and hauled me in so my face was right in his crotch.

"You're going to take my clothes off. You're going to suck my cock until I
tell you to stop. Then I'm going to fuck your ass. Got it?" His voice was
commanding, hard as onyx, resonant.

I nodded, there in his crotch.

He unbuckled the ball gag and pulled it out of my mouth. "Get to work,
puppy."

He leaned back, his muscles highlighted by the bedside lamp, lean, agile,
animal.

I buried my face in his jeans for a moment, breathing him in. Then I
reached up with my bound hands and undid his belt, then his button, then
his fly. I pulled his jeans open, put my face to his boxer briefs, and
inhaled deeply. His smell was like a hit of high-grade weed, it made the
whole world spin for a moment. I kissed at the outline of his cock in his
jeans, but there was no reason to rush the reveal.

With one last kiss I pulled away, then knelt to kiss his feet. Now that the
ball gag was out, I could really do a job on them.

I kissed at the laces, the sides, the heels the soles. I pulled off his
sneakers and kissed his socks, I pulled off his socks and kissed his feet.
I'd never understood the whole fascination with feet until now. It was a
way of really knowing your Master, the way animals knew each other. It was
him imprinting himself on me. I licked at his toes, inhaled at his arches,
and devoted myself to him completely.

Then I went back up, and started pulling down his jeans. He hunched his
hips off the bed helpfully, and I got both his pants and his underwear down
to the point where his cock slid slowly into view.

It was thick, cut, with a ridge running down the middle of it and a
good-sized head. His balls were big, and hung low. Even without the ball
gag I was drooling.

I made a move to lick his balls, but he stopped me with a hand on my
forehead. "Not yet, Prince," he said. "Beg for it."

I sat back on my haunches, put my paws up, and begged for all I was worth.
I wanted that cock. I wanted to take it down my throat, I wanted it up my
ass, and I didn't care if my Master knew how badly I needed it. I stuck my
tongue out. I made big, pleading eyes at him. I panted and drooled, I
rolled over at his feet. I struggled back up, kissing his feet along the
way, and begged some more.

My Master met this display with a wry smile. He leaned back on the bed, and
occasionally nudged my hard cock with one of his feet while I was
humiliating myself for his entertainment.

"All right," he finally said, "You've earned it. Start with my feet, and
work your way up slowly."

I arfed happily and knelt at his feet again. I kissed them on the tops,
then kissed around to the sides, then I took them in my bound hands and
started making out with his soles. He'd taken me effortlessly. I'd
challenged him and lost. He deserved my submission.

Gradually, incrementally I made my way up my Master's feet, to his ankles,
up his calves. He had very defined calves, probably from the martial arts
practice. I kissed my Master's knees, and then I turned awkwardly, bound as
I was, and managed to get underneath his knees as well.

Once I finished there, I knelt between his legs and started up the inside
of his thighs. I alternated between them, spending long enough on each to
make him crazy, then switching to the other. By the time I took my first
delicate licks of his balls the muscles in his thighs were twitching.

His balls were... well, they were balls. Kind of like licking someone's
elbow. But they smelled of him, and they were warm and soft and I licked at
them and took them in my mouth one by one, and I washed them with my
tongue. All the while I was watching his magnificent cock, towering above
me.

I started making little whining sounds while I tongued away at his nuts. My
Master knew just what I wanted, but he just looked down on me, vaguely
amused. I thought about just going for it, but I hadn't been ordered
explicitly as of yet. I whined again.

"You want it, puppy?" he asked, holding the base of his cock, waving it in
the air. "You want your bone?"

I nodded, his balls still in my mouth. Damn, did I want it.

"Let me hear you bark, Prince. Bark for me."

I let his nuts drop out of my mouth and barked happily.

"All right, boy. Take it," he said.

I put the tip of my tongue to the base of his balls, and I licked upwards,
slowly. I wanted my first taste of his cock to take forever. When I reached
the V under the head of his cock, I changed direction and ran my tongue
around underneath the flare of his head. Twice. His cock twitched.

Then I licked the underside of the head with just the tip of my tongue,
tasting it. Salt and sweat and power. I slid my tongue around his head,
gently exploring it, and my Master lay back on the bed as I did. I traced
lines up the shaft of his cock with the very tip of the muzzle on my mask.

I kissed the head of his cock, then put it to my lips, and took it inside
me a little bit at a time. As I drew it deeper and deeper into my mouth I
used my tongue on it, swirling spiral patterns on it.

When his whole head was in my mouth I started stroking his shaft gently
with my cuffed hands, just feather light touches to start. My Master
groaned as I started moving my head subtly, pulling it off his cockhead
just a bit, then taking it back into me. It was teasing, it was just enough
contact to feel good without really getting him going, but it was just the
intro. You don't start off with your faders all the way up.

In no hurry whatsoever, I played gentle passages on his cock with my
fingers and my tongue until he couldn't stand it anymore. He grabbed a
handful of my hair in his hands, and held me completely still while he
thrust his cock into my mouth. It hit the back of my throat, and I
struggled not to gag as he pushed inexorably forward. He pulled me down
onto him as he buried himself in me, just far enough that I thought I was
going to start to choke.

He held me there.

"You're a good cocksucker," he said. "I'm almost tempted to put my load
down your throat."

He fucked my face, once, then again.

"But nah." He pulled me off his cock and looked me in the eye. "I want to
fuck my dog."

I gave a frightened little whine, and he grinned. "You can take it, puppy.
You don't have a choice."

He pushed me aside and slid up towards the head of the bed, patting the
covers as he went. "Here, boy. C'mere, Prince. Up you go."

I could get my front paws onto the bed no problem, but getting my legs up
was hard with them tied up as they were. I struggled for a little bit until
my Master grabbed one of my arms and pulled me up. He had me crawl up to
the head of the bed, and put my head down on the pillows so my ass was up
in the air.

My Master grabbed the lube and the condoms out of the nightstand. He spread
my legs out wide, my feet still tied up to my thighs, and started getting
my ass ready. This wasn't a perfunctory lube job, my Master spent some time
working his fingers and the lube into me, teasing my prostate, getting me
so worked up that when his cock was finally at my hole I couldn't wait.

I humped that cock into me like the horny dog I am.

My Master met me with a thrust, and then he was deep inside, pushing hard.
I shuddered as he invaded me, feeling every inch of him inside me. He felt
perfect, like I was perfectly molded for him. I let out a little noise, and
it sounded like a howl.

He fucked his way into me, and then he fucked me hard. He pounded me,
starting off doggy style. Then he grabbed me by the shoulder and one knee,
and kind of fell over, taking me with him, his cock buried in me up to the
hilt as we fell. With me on my side, he kept hold of my leg and fucked me,
long hard strokes, pounding my prostate gland, making my cock twitch and
drool precum.

He was fucking me like I was just an object, like I was there for him to
dominate and use. He was fucking me like I was his slave, his animal. He
was fucking me like I always dreamed of being fucked.

I gave him the absolute best I could, milking his cock with my ass, pulling
him into me with each thrust, desperate to have him deep inside me. He sped
up, a series of fast, brutal jabs, and then suddenly pulled out.

He flipped me over on my back, pulled my legs up, lined his cock up, and
fucked himself into me all the way to his balls in one hard shove.

I let out a howl, a desperate sound of pain and lust, and tried to get used
to him filling up my world. He started fucking me, long hard strokes, his
body arched over mine. He was braced on the bed with his hands on either
side of my chest, his head down, his eyes closed. He fucked me viciously,
his cock slamming into me, sending my whole body into overload. He was
getting close, and knowing that he was getting close got me close. I
clenched my fists in my cuffs, pulled at the chain that held them to my
collar, and gave my Master as much pleasure as I could.

My Master looked up at me and met my gaze. "Bark for me, puppy," he said
between thrusts.

"Arf!" It felt ridiculous. It felt silly. In the heat of the moment, it
felt right. I was his dog. He'd owned me. "Arf, arf, arf!"

"That's my good dog," he said. "That's my Prince."

And then he was slamming into me, his face contorted by ecstasy, his hand
on my chest, his body between my thighs, and I was cumming, just as he was,
my hot seed shooting out over my chest. He grabbed my cock and milked it as
we came, and my whole body spasmed around his cock. He thrust once more,
jabbing my prostate, and one more explosive crescendo overtook me.

Then I'd collapsed onto the bed, and he'd pulled out of me, disposed of the
condom, deployed the towel, and was untying me. It all seemed to happen at
once, in a timeless blur.

He lay down next to me, put his arm around me, and kissed me. Then he took
off my dog mask.

We held each other quietly as our breathing slowed.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Oh my fucking god am I okay," I said. "I don't think I've been this okay
ever."

He smiled, a big, happy, kind of lopsided smile. It was unbearably sexy.
"Okay, good. I didn't know things were going to get so rough."

"I'm a little disappointed all my furniture survived," I told him. "I was
looking forward to a trip to Ikea."

He laughed. "For a little while, I thought you had no idea what I was
doing. I really did think I was going to get arrested for a minute."

"Acting lessons!" I said. "About half a semester. I don't know, I just got
into it. You're very convincing. And hey, I have to ask you. Have you ever
done any voice work?"

"Voice work?" He sounded hesitant.

"You know, cartoons, commercials. You're an actor, right?" In this town,
you just assume the handsome pizza guy is in between gigs.

"I'm at USC. Pre-med." He almost growled it. I apparently wasn't the first
person to make that mistake.

"Oh. No shit? Okay, sorry, I just thought..." I realized there was no way
to end that sentence well, and moved on. "Look, your voice is amazing. I
mean, amazing. There's this game studio I work with, and they're casting
voice actors, and I thought you might want to try out, is all."

"Look, I was just fucking around. That's my dom voice. My usual voice is
like this."

"It's a hell of a sexy voice," I said. "The studio is casting one villain I
think you'd be perfect for. If you want, I can see if they want to give you
a shot. They can't pay much, they're this tiny little three man operation,
but their Kickstarter went well so they're doing last-minute voiceovers."

"Oh, that always goes well," he said sarcastically, winning just a tiny
little piece of my heart forever. "Huh. I never really thought of it. So,
you're a programmer?"

"No, I'm a sound guy. Music. I'm doing the music for the game, with my
partner." I ran my hand over his ribs, the muscles in his chest.

"Oh." There was disappointment in his voice. "How long have you been
together?"

"Business partner," I said. "Kind of life partner, but don't tell his wife."

I actually felt him relax a little.

"I saw the guitars," he said. "You do music for a living?"

"Yeah. Kind of. Barely." I sighed, and went into the abbreviated version.
"Colin and I started messing around making music in college. We put out an
album on Soundcloud, it did okay, and we got asked to do the soundtrack to
a short film, for basically free. A part of the proceeds. It did well. So
we set up a studio, and we've done a couple of commercials. And this game.
We're negotiating for another movie, but we'll see how that goes. We have
no idea what we're doing. And it could all self-destruct next week."

"Sounds like fun," he said.

"Yeah, it's the best time I've ever had." I rested my head on his shoulder.
"I wish I wasn't scared all the time, though."

"That's why they call it an adventure." He patted my head. "Hey, I hope we
didn't disturb your neighbors too much with all the noise."

"Patty's on the other side of the wall here, but she's never home at night.
She's a dancer."

"That works out well," he said. "You're loud."

"Well, you're... rough." It was the best I had.

"Ruff, ruff." He tweaked my nipple.

"Hey, what's with the dog stuff, anyway? I've seen it around, but it's kind
of new to me."

He thought a moment. "I guess I like the way dogs are dominant, you know?
It's not out of hate, or of spite. It's just that's his place in the pack.
And he lets the other dogs know their place."

"I like that. It's structure," I said. "Discipline. Fun."

"As part of an ongoing hierarchical relationship." He sat up. "In the
context of pack dynamics. And I really hate to do this, but I have to go."

"Emergency delivery to make?" I said, a little more cattily than I would
have liked.

"Eight am class." He got up, picked up his pants. "I schedule them all
early so I can work."

"Yeah, no use piling up any more student loans than you have to. Believe
me." I gave in and started getting dressed. "Well, good luck getting what,
four hours of sleep?"

"Maybe five. I live pretty close." He was piling the gear up in the pizza
box. He couldn't quite get it shut all the way.

I had my pants and shirt on, and all I could really do was stand around
awkwardly while he got himself together. I followed him to the door, where
he paused. He turned and kissed me.

"You're a good dog," he said.

I couldn't help it. I felt a big, broad grin spread across my face. "Hey,
thanks," I said, and I meant it.

"I'll see you around sometime?" he asked.

"Sure," I said.

And he left.

I dropped into bed, passed out, and woke up around nine, instantly feeling
a little guilty about it. If I get up early, I'm a useless drudge for the
rest of the day, though. Or so I've convinced Colin. I dragged myself into
work, and found that somewhere between the shower and the commute to the
office a whole new character theme had popped into existence in my head,
and I spent the morning getting the idea down.

And about noon, my phone lit up.

'Hey, puppy,' he texted me. 'Want to go for a walk tonight?'

'Arf!'


            THE END

__________________________

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