A Puppy's Tale

(continued from Part I, and concluded)

- with acknowledgement of author James Rozo’s considerable input -

There. Naked as Nature intended.

Seventeen-year-old Anders appealed as much as ever. Personified innocence strongly aroused me. Yet maddened. Would he achieve all I wanted in the month his mother had handed him over to my custody?

Aggravating was his tendency to think about my instructions rather than to act on them immediately.

 “The one thing you don’t need is time to reflect,” I hissed. Your only thought now and henceforth ought – no – must be unquestioned evidence of respect and immediate obedience to your man. And who do you think that is?”

He turned his bottom to me, looked over his shoulder seductively, and moved toward my closest hand. Anticipating a finger in his fundament.

My rule: He spoke only when a finger of mine was in him.

“Don’t look there. Look here.” My cock raised its head which flared in his direction. “Upstairs. My bed. You, face down, legs open. Not a thought, you understand?”

He nodded and went to obey.

I tunneled deep. Sounds of contentment from us both. Happiness had been found. I took my time. Listened. Heard nothing beyond slight protests from the bed’s frame. For certainty about that, I stopped just where my cockhead had Anders’ ass at its widest, held that position, dropped deadweight into him – bed and boy noises – waited for the abatement, and cautiously started the bumps and grinds of sexual love.

“Feel yourself on a journey by your lover’s tour-guide cock. Shift just a little to feel my thickness sinking through clusters of nerve endings buried in your anal tissues and, thus, bringing them to life. I’m riding you gently now, so gently. Admire the passage of time being so pleasured. And I will as well, until we drift off to sleep. So important.”

He experienced my voice trailing off as if I were falling asleep, so he followed the instruction.

My cock remained buried until a dream – one in which he ought to be assisting his fuck – woke him to the dream’s task. He bucked up onto me. When he came, it was in a dreamy state. My outflow was a long, consistent stream marked by quiet emotion, teased from me by Anders’ now-sumptuous interior.

By some miracle, the two of us remained locked as one until the sun was high in the sky. Tiny increments of motion led inexorably through other signs of awareness to sharp jerks of sopping cock in willing high-school ass. To quaking orgasm of rape-strong force.

“God, I loved that,” Anders finally was able to say before I pulled out.

 My stomach – and his – growled. “We never ate supper”

“And we haven’t had breakfast.”

“Up boy. Here’s your plug. Piss quickly. Put on something from your bag. I’m taking you out for lunch.”

Unshaven but in fresh clothes, I led him on an invisible leash several blocks to a favored restaurant. Anders followed my every step as he had been told.

We ate with piggish appetites.

* * *

Downstairs after a flushing, clad only in my next-widest collar and wearing cuffs on ankles and wrists – naked otherwise and nervous – Anders held his breath as I tied on padded doggy-paw gloves. I let him stand there as I picked up the longed-for puppy tail plug.

“This is the best model in the world,” I showed him. “The peg is square. The ass that’s lucky enough to have it can do two things with it. One is to grasp it snugly so that it rises up proudly over your back and can’t become uncentered. Two – look closely – is that if its recipient wants to show his appreciation and enjoyment of being a man’s pup… Look at where my fingers are squeezing the narrow part. See? Each ass squeeze wags the tail in one direction. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze – and its wearer’s butt shows how happy the puppy is.”

Hyperventilating with excited anticipation, Anders’ expression begged. I used olive oil to coat the tail’s peg. Stood directly against his bare front. My arms reached behind, one hand parting his bottom and the other placing the peg for entry.

“Rest your face on my chest. Release your tension. It’s your moment, future pup, your moment to receive from my hands – this.”

It angled up and in to a gasp of fulfillment. I spanked both cheeks simultaneously to make sure the tail couldn’t reflexively fly out. Stepped back, leaving him standing alone, unsteadily.

“Squeeze.”

He did. It wagged. His cock stood out, his balls drawn tightly below. What to do?

“You look great.” I took him by an arm to the mirror. “See for yourself.”

To distract him from owning the moment any longer, I snapped my finger. “Go, stand over there. Widen your stance. You’re back in training now. Hold your paws out to the side. I’m going to pat your balls every time you stop wagging the tail. So, wag as long as you can by squeezing. Good pup. Keep that up.”

When he tired from the unfamiliar exercise, he received approving pats. “Now bend your knees slightly. That’s enough. Keep balanced and wag for me.” The tail swung from side to side. “Good pup. Don’t straighten up. Bend your knees until your balls settle in my hand.” I patted them encouragingly. “Give me some wags, pup.” Not bad, but he was weakening.

“Down a little more, if you want to show obedience and not get punished.” Difficult, it appeared he might give up. He squatted with teenage determination, knees shaking with effort, his tail managing a few wags – until my hand slapped his balls. He bolted upright.

I felt his knees, snarling, “Shame! For not obeying, you must be punished. I’m taking my tail back.”

It surrendered to my none-too-gentle, strong-wristed twist out. He was crying – I imagined – from having caused disappointment. Paws were brought up to flooding eyes. I took pity. “I will allow you to keep your paws for now if you accept you need punishment. Then we will see.”

I directed him to kneel facing away from me on the floor and to extend his arms parallel beside his head. “Your chest down, too, on the floor, knees drawn as far forward as they can go. Ass and genitals out my way, completely exposed.”

Baby smooth and beautiful, apt for any treatment I craved to provide.

“This will be your display mode, if you ever get to be a proper pup,” I said, hands savoring flesh.

My meaty girth’s arousal threatened to divert me from my intended path. I could spank and fuck him again in this position. Yes! And accomplish something for his knees at the same time. Up close, I noted beads of nervous perspiration around the hole I knew so well. And on the seam below.

By shifting position, I could pull down his balls and spank my target. As my grip increased, an audibly shaky sigh escaped his lips close to the floor. I hit – hard. His jaw clenched.  Pathetic umphs rose in pitch as my whacks atomized the perspiration there and pulverized Anders’ muscle pussy.

Pussy! That’s what I’d call him.

”What are you a girl? A pussy? I thought you were a boy, aspiring to puphood.” I thought first of olive oil but thought of a better idea. Reached for the KY. Pointed the tube and squirted – some in, some around – then said, “I’m going to mount you like the bitch you are.”

Swiftly sheathing myself, drawing back through his stretched ring, I indulged in the flaming pleasure of reaming his trapped rectum’s lining. Its secretions and my KY combined to heighten lubricity for my authoritarian cock’s animalistic severity.

Deep butt fucking’s hedonism taken to an extreme, overwhelming as a learning experience for a boy his age – a boy I’d brought to this point and aimed to take further via personal rapture. The carnality of my intercourse built momentum.

Already evident in him as tremors and shudders traveling up his spinal column to the base of his skull and coursing down his skinny arms, what was happening to him bolted adult lightning strikes from my violently active pelvis down into my plunging thighs and up my heaving torso. A tornado’s chaos ripped over us both. I inundated his insides to unseemly guttural contortions of speech, gushing like an infernal artesian well. Climaxing over and over, I went senseless.

Amorousness returned when I recovered, dislodged, and noticed Anders was still on his knees. Obedience had been drilled into him. I moved him to lie completely prone on my carpet.

“You’ve earned this today,” I said as I slid the tail’s blockish end in. Like a big question mark, it stood up proudly. “Is my restored pupboy happy?”

It actually wagged enough to notice.

My eyes grew dewy. “I’m pleased with your progress. Come. I’ll help you up. You’re a champ. We will walk together so you can enjoy what’s now yours – where it belongs.”

To judge from the state of his youngster’s prick, he had shed his teen cum more than once. I pinched some of it, whiffed it and offered it to his nose. “Smell, Anders. Your balls are developing, my boy – thanks no doubt to all the attention I’m entrusted by your mother to provide.”

Yes, he made a fine sight as we, then he walked about the house, none more palpitatingly lovely than when walking ahead of me up and down stairs, tail securely in place. In the back yard, I had him run upright. I threw a rubber ball for him to fetch.

The tail’s action thrilled, I could tell.

Anders’ laughing fun attracted the neighbors’ college age kid. Wayne, whom I had watched grow during his high school years, looked out the window. He had done so before when pups were being exercised and, I figured, jerked off.

At my head signal, he screwed up his courage, and came over. In cut-offs and a t-shirt, he made a good appearance. What couldn’t be seen bulged respectably enough.

“Hi, Wayne. Wait just a second. My pup’s not quite ready. Needs a drink from his water bowl. Down on all fours, Anders. And, while you’re down there, relieve yourself on that tree. You know, leg up.”

Deed done, Anders stood for a treat from my hand. I turned to astonished Wayne. “My pup needs exercise you could help him with. Want to play?”

The suggestive question must have clicked a switch in the young man’s head. He bounded into my yard. “Give me the ball,” he said.

They played with it without a word from Wayne about Anders’ nakedness or springing tail. “Run after it,” he called and rolled. “Get it for me,” he tossed. “Fetch, boy, for me.”  When Wayne used that word, his shorts were getting tight.

My turn to give an order, “Get in there Wayne. Chase him!” I said it with a swat to his butt. “You’ll like it. I’ll bet you’ll really like it.” My finger slid along his rear seam. Off he went.

They gamboled on the grass. From the house, I fetched a small, black butt plug. I let Anders run by but stopped Wayne by a flat palm to his stomach. “Put this in your pocket and try it later. Next time we’re out here and you want join us, wear this you-know-where.”

Looking into my eyes as his stiff college boy cock felt pressure from me, he took it.

“Think of an infant’s pacifier, only for adults – and not for the mouth.”

Torn, he fled. But next day and the next, he reappeared, announcing, “It’s under my shorts.”

Glee at the sensations in his butt kept him erect until he was out of breath. Surely enhanced his ball games with smaller, quicker Anders.

By week’s end, Anders was ready for a planned visit from Dr. Apollyon.

* * *

Ding-dong

“Answer the door upstairs as you are and embrace him warmly. Hand him your tail to insert. He’ll love that. Usher him down here to the basement for your examination.”

Naked except for his wrists’ and ankles’ fleece-lined bands and my O-ring snugly focusing his genitals, Anders eagerly flung open the front door. The uniform-clad man saw it all.

“Deliveries in the rear?” he asked, flummoxed. With him a large box containing a stationary bike, gift of Dr. Apollyon, who walked in as if on cue.

“Take that package in, young man, and take.. off.. your.. pants.” He droned, “Fuck.. my.. boy’s.. butt… for.. the.. tip.. of.. your.. lifetime.”

Apollyon’s slow-drone tonal delivery did its hypnotic trick. The van’s driver, an East Indian who looked about twenty, dropped his tan trousers and drawers. He moved into welcoming arms which pulled him on top as Anders fell back, landed with an oomph on the floor, handed the good doctor his oiled tail, threw back his legs, felt for the stranger’s instantly available cock, guided it, seemed to suck it in, muscle-fluttered its six or seven inches, relaxed, and let himself be fucked.

The driver, mind spinning at the prospect of clearing his save-it-for-the-wedding testicular congestion in this novel fashion, practiced parking and re-parking his dark inches so ably that minutes delayed Apollyon’s entrance.

He thought of what he held. Checking the oil on it, he placed the tail’s peg and steered it with stealth at the bounding virgin’s hole.

“This.. will.. help.. you.. achieve.. your.. idea.. of..  nirvanah.”

Azim Mayadas, occupied in front, was not aware in back of what was there until his rocking and rolling pelvis felt the greatest stimulus ever. How the tail whizzed from side to side! He blasted, got to his feet (tail wagging from inner impulses), and allowed Anders to reclaim it while blustering at Dr. Apollyon.

A cautionary finger touched his lips. “Shhh. Here is my card. You need professional help with your emotions. Your case will have my complete interest. Go now.. and.. do.. not.. forget.”

We showed our now-wiser delivery man up the stairs. The three of us watched his van pull away.

* * *

The bike was in response to my description of Anders’ weak knee muscles.

Apollyon had seen for himself that, with arms out to the side, our boy’s contractions could and did wag the tail with animation. Ordered to squat slightly until I could pat his ball sac, the wags were satisfactory. Bent more, Anders’ knees delivered his balls again to approving pats.

“Go ahead, boy. Show the doctor how weak you are,” I said. “Lower yourself and hold the place while we fondle what’s hanging for us.”

“I see what you mean,” Apollyon said, his own hand palpating the two sensitive ovoids. “Those weak knees of his are why I brought the bike.”

“Up with you,” I pulled at the unwaving tail.

* * *

Well-plugged, Anders was shown how to pedal the special bike we set up downstairs.

“Ten minutes as fast as you can.” To me Apollyon showed how the mechanism’s resistance was adjustable by increments. To Anders, he said, “Ten minutes in the morning before you get to wear your tail. Same after lunch – ride hard first, receive your tail for the work you put in.”

He explained loftily while our boy toiled, “Pups of high quality must have strong legs because…” – he turned his head – “…the lifestyle to which you, Anders, aspire tolerates no less.”

Ten minutes having expired, Anders was allowed off. “Stand by. You will have something new to experience when your knees are stronger.”

Anders and I looked on.

“This piece of equipment has a replacement seat, this one – with two sections and an opening in the middle. See that vertical shaft? A sequence of inflexible dildos goes there. When you are strong enough to pedal standing, the side pieces may be taken off, the dildos (I suggest flexible ones for this stage of exercise) to be set at your own angle. Ride standing, you’ll fuck yourself.”

To Anders, he asked, “Has that plug dilated you well? Are.. you.. comfortable?”

A nod. Our boy was entering his proper state of mind.

“Will you help the doctor with your mouth? His handsome penis will examine your anus and rectum if you get it wet,” I encouraged.

Apollyon lay flat on his back, clothing aside. Lifted his organ to the ready mouth.

Lips tested, tasted man. Young tongue swirled the responding tower. Mouth descended past head’s flare, tightened and released – seeming to consider how best to serve his doctor’s intentions. Without hurry, Anders’ fluffy hair floated with the fellator’s progress heading further down. A new inch to fit the teen’s small, hot space; a new inch to tongue.

“Thank you, Anders. That is enough. Squat over me and,” he droned, “sit.. carefully.. down.. knees spread wide like the good boy you know how to be. Now, with knee strength alone.. ride.. your.. doctor. Your obedience does you credit. How perfect for you it is, right? You can go faster. What’s nice is that, when your knees grow tired, you can simply sit until your strength returns. We will continue until your riding of me gets you what you need.”

What a trial! I must have him on me like that. 

Anders’ placid eyes closed in concentration as he strove to bring his doctor to climax. Alas, he had to sit more and more often. I picked up my crop and rapidly tapped his nipples. That signaled him to exert himself to his task, but soon, a worried look between his brows, he slowed to sit again.

Tapped his erection similarly to rile him to action. On a high upstroke, his balls received a thwack from below. He rose almost off, let out a yell of pain, and collapsed so suddenly he impaled himself – and brought Apollyon to instant, full-bodied climax.

Emitting a tiny whine of loss, Anders took my arms and was helped to his feet. I gave him a small bottle of sugar-rich apple juice.

Apollyon roused himself, pleased (and thinking ahead to how he might enjoy Azim in similar fashion). He inserted the puppy tail in Anders with a smile in my direction. The time had come to dress the boy with all the accouterments he so wanted.

My widest collar was set aside in favor of the middle-size one for his neck, heavily reinforced paws installed on his hands, knee pads secured thoroughly, and last a zippered black latex hood with dog ears and openings for eyes, nose, and mouth. Apollyon showed him my snap-on leather muzzle, “Next time for you – it accommodates a ball gag which you will need for total subservience.”

Anders didn’t look around when I cinched his scrotum with its one-inch belt. “Go now,” I pointed, “and see yourself in the mirror.”

The tail wagged back and forth – not much. His anus had not recovered from its ride of the doctor’s cock. “Aren’t you happy?” I needled him. He waved his butt to amplify the plug’s wags.

“Anders, your mental health is improving the more we take you into this, right?”

Three enthusiastic nods.

“You deserve a treat. Remember these doggy-biscuit-shaped ginger snaps? Sit back and put out your tongue.” Gratitude shown from his eyes. His pink tongue coming from the black hood so puppy-like, I fed him another.

“Time to try running around without a leash, like a puppy would.”

Apollyon confided as we observed the unsure, all-fours clumping, “As we thought, he’s constitutionally determined for this. He can’t hide the excitement in his crotch, do you see?”

I rolled a golf ball his way. “Can you catch it?” He scrambled, picked it up in his teeth, brought it back, dropped it at my feet, and turned expectantly. I let him give chase again. When he approached with it, I said, “Up now, on your haunches. Hold there.” I jacked his cock and caressed his sac, accepted the saliva-laden ball, and tossed it with a bright, “Fetch!”

Apollyon was enchanted.

Treated to another ginger snap, which he gulped and chewed, Anders the pup looked anxious when I picked up my crop. Crumbs on his lips weren’t licked away while he wondered.

“Follow Dr. Apollyon up the stairs. We’re going to exercise you in the yard.” I merely touched the crop’s tip to his perineum for him to be motivated to use his paw-clad hands and padded knees to negotiate with care the way up and out.

On the grass, he cavorted with the golf ball.

“Toys such as a rubber bone and something squeaky to play with. If he continues to play when you’ve ordered him to stop, take the crop to his bound balls, or thrash the tender areas behind his knees. He gets no treats nor even meals until he gives you his ass.”

Minutes more of our mutual play with the ball – with Anders ‘in’ his most convincing puppy mode yet.  He grew winded.

I whistled. “Time to come in, Anders. Bring me the ball.”

“Nice reaction. Have a treat.”

Apollyon was not as quick to show his approval, “Hello again, pup-boy. Inside with you and downstairs – if you can figure out how not to fall face-forward. This is a test.”

Anders’ arms were not up to the task of supporting him for the task. Cleverly, he turned around to back down the steps on his knees.

Another treat was gratefully munched. “You’re going to spoil him.”

“Have him practice ‘present’ while I answer the phone.”

* * *

“Hello to you, Mrs. Bottoms. How’s the trip going? Indeed, he’s nearby. We’re just in from some ball practice. Organized exercise helps him stay focused on why he’s here. Alert body, alert mind, that’s one of my mottos. Yes, his indoor studies are going rather well for only one week. Of course. I’ll fetch him for you.”

Actually, her end of the chat was longer than that summary of my end.

Apollyon had stripped Anders of gear. He looked quite fresh, his complexion positively sunny.

I took his front package firmly and walked him to his caller. “It’s your mother. Talk to her.”

“Mom, hi! Are you and Aunt Connie having a good time? Me? I’m being taught a lot. Yes ma’am, he’s strict about my behavior. Dr. Apollyon’s been here to check me out, too.”

One hand on his shoulder while they prattled, I used two fingers of my other to penetrate him slowly from behind.

“Yes’m, there are lots of tests to check on my progress. I’m being tested right now while talking to you – I mean, um, for proper behavior. I’m good. He took me to a restaurant and I was upright and very proper the whole time. And when we were walking, I wasn’t even tempted to do what I shouldn’t. Will you call next week?”

Not wanting him to slip up, I took the phone. “Hello again, Mrs. Bottoms.  You all enjoy your trip, and don’t worry. Anders is learning how to be a model son. Yes, Dr. Apollyon’s planning on checking him out each of our remaining three weeks. Indeed, the best of emotional care. No compromises are allowed – oh, and he’s already less conflicted about himself than when you gave him over to my training.”

After good-byes, I reamed Anders with three fingers while enjoying his mouth with mine. Apollyon walked in to suggest we take our ‘good boy’ to an Italian restaurant. Offered to drive.

His idea was to fit Anders with something new to him for the trip and the meal. His choice was my smallest tapered, most malleable dildo. From its pointed end to its inch-and-a-half wide other end only six-and-a-half inches long, its design prevented a stable position within its wearer. Rectal peristalsis would send it back from whence it came. To its inserter belonged the pleasure of sending it back.

“This should do nicely. You have a belt to secure it in place?”

“I’ve one better than you know.” The belt’s elastic straps crossed where a dildo could be attached. Using Vaseline for unabsorbable slickness, I slipped the tiny end and remaining tapered-wide six inches into Anders (for whom it was merely a provocation), had him step into the belt’s straps, buckled him tightly at the waist, smiled (as was my wont), and said, “Walk now in this and you’ll be wanting to walk a lot.”

Left-foot-right-foot, the device’s taper caused it to slide an inch or so in and out. “Oh,” he said. He ran a little. “Oh my!”

“Now squat. Deep knee bend, and discover how it’s forced further out. When you stand, the elastic draws it back. Your every move fucks you gently, doesn’t it?”

* * *

Although we drove to Giorgio’s, parking was such that we ended two blocks from the restaurant’s half-round, nationalistic green-white-red awning. Loose-trousered Anders was positively ebullient during our stroll. Advancing and receding, the dildo fucked him as promised.

Sitting on it through tomatoes and olive oil on toasted bread, simple pasta, sautéed chicken with artichoke hearts, capers, lemon butter, and topped with parsley, and tiramisu – which we all enjoyed – he felt himself (and his perpetually jazzed sexuality) to be special. On the walk back to Apollyon’s car, he asked, “How many sizes of this thing do you have?”

“More than you can take – at least, for the present.”

“Hot damn,” his unchanged voice muttered.

Dropped off at my house and as we readied for bed, how his puppy training would continue was outlined by me. “I’ve a stick rather like the handle of a broom. Hinged at the end is the attachment for a dildo. When you’re trussed for tomorrow, I will drive you from behind. My last trainee thought it exquisite.”

He climbed on the bed, face and chest on it, bottom raised – ‘present’ position – and waited for his evening’s quotient of man cock. Olive oil applied in haste, I heaved my cock’s bulk into the precious corridor and churned passion into combustion’s chaos.

After the oblivion of a colossal orgasm, I sprang back into action and fucked his small body until he glowed with a profusion of blushes. Not enough for a man of my urgent dominance, I flipped him over, folded his legs, surged forward, screwed him more and, after dousing our fires with more cum, sank into after-sex lethargy.

* * *

Next day, refreshed by Ander’s mouth on my cock, I fed us both. Me, regular food from a plate; my pup, for his, in a bowl on the floor next to his kitchen water dish. No hands, Mouth and tongue only.

He’ll get better at that. 

Thence to the basement. Used soft rope to wrap his ankles together, his lower legs against his upper, tied his wrists behind his neck and his forearms to his upper, and declared my work ‘a good job.’ Indoors on unprotected knees and elbows, wearing for his first time a full doggy hood and muzzle, I drove him short distances on the end of my long stick with the next-size tapered dildo.

He saw himself in the mirror and made a yippy sound rather like a pup.

Confirmed. A natural. 

That afternoon, secured as in the morning, this time with straps of black leather, my driving rod was tipped by a dildo which ended in a bulb, nubby and shaped like a sea urchin shell. At each push and pull of that, my hooded pup exhaled audibly. Minutes into the walk, he trembled, yelped stridently, and came in a frenzy.

I pummeled his bottom as twitches claimed it.

* * *

I moved him to a choker. Admired the way it held his head up at all times. Showed him videos from the Dark Web of puppy boys and doggy men with vocabularies of canine sounds during punishments. Puppy boys being forced into strange postures to lick balls and suck cocks of doggy men mesmerized him. Too, videos of puppy boys enduring weights hung from their privates, clothespins pinching foreskins and sacs, tit clamps connected by small chains being pulled to the point of pain, and balls in humblers being smacked.

What riveted him were videos of electro sex.

* * *

I have never had a boy-subject who looked as beautiful with his arms and legs stretched mercilessly to the four corners of my training table downstairs. Nor one more beautiful with electro-pulse clamps on his nipples and a high-level, low-voltage, vibrating electro plug in his ass. Either could be regulated as this master instructor saw fit. For tiny jolts anywhere I wished on his body, I wielded my electro-stimulation wand-length rod which would zap with a tickle or shock with a spark.

A torment his seventeen-year-old’s body writhed from was to be force fed my largest silicone pup tail’s insert part. His jaw had to open maximally. What a gag! – it prevented his yipping, yelping, woofing when my plug’s charges engaged his prostate. His head shook and he bit down causing the tail to wag over his distorted, cute face. When I manipulated his balls at the same time his nipples were sent short charges of current, his torso struggled impotently. The electro rod sparking the head of his erection elicited juttering spasms of climax.  

Motionless from exhaustion, he expected my usual attentions – removing fastenings to wrists, nipples, and ankles, and taking from his adored mouth and ass their stunning plugs. He always reached for me haltingly, grasping to draw me close. Swollen lips parted anew, searching, desperately needing fresh moisture from contact with mine. I kissed him delicately.

Turned to his back, his freed arms and legs wrapped around me. Pulses throbbed. We pressed hard cocks together. My balls lay heavily on his. We kissed more. With ardent intent. I nibbled the lobe of his left ear, stuck my tongue in, and coasted into his waiting ass with eight of my ten inches.

Anders’ heated breath mingled with mine. His cock slid against my abdomen as I raised and lowered my hips in what then was an act of love – at my most penetrative. A dreamy smile played over his face. Love-heavy lids completed my perfect view of the boy into whom I swelled and strained.

With clutches to my back, his panting head rocked maddeningly side to side, breaking our kiss and spurring me on. Unable to contain my feelings beyond a certain point, I thudded profoundly. Passion’s power crammed my hallucinatory orgasm into him, blinding me to all but bursts of pure color. My horizon of perception exploded.

* * *

Sexual excitement reigned during our weeks together. I altered one of my old ‘jock socks’ – a snug pouch supported by a tight elastic waistband with no rear straps – to hide his front parts. It set off his preferred nude state upright for household duties and for him to sport around on all-fours, puppy-like. The slight garment lent charm to my caresses, tweaks, and smacks.

After a few telephone conversations Anders did not overhear, I secured my nine-inch tapered dildo in him and saw him dress in the street clothes I had chosen. To get him to the desired destination, I took him via public transportation that involved a transfer. His movements up and down steps while clothed and filled so provocatively were noted.

In my hand a zippered tote bag full of tails and other inserts.

 Arman-Pierre’s tailor shop specialized in leather and latex. Effusive as any French queen, he immediately exclaimed, “Quel beau garçon!” The door locked automatically. Anders, clothes off and daisy-fresh, was inspected to overall murmurs of approval, especially of dildo belt and jock sock. Arman-Pierre stripped those away. “Tut-tut, only twenty-three centimeters! You, mon ami, have at least twenty-five!” “It is my pup’s first time for a long trip outside. I did not want to tax him,” I bussed Anders’ hair. “D’accord!” He examined the toys I had brought and set them on the floor.

 Measurements were taken from ankles to wrists in every direction, Anders standing prior to being placed on all fours. A scrotal sack was tied on tightly and the resulting packet measured. A ball stretcher buckled in place, its measurements taken and of the distance across perineum to anal circle.

 “The opening in the costume here – more than five centimeters?” “Six.” He withdrew my dildo in order to plug in the others one by one. How Anders blushed was lovely to witness. “Bien! He will have my thinnest, most pliant latex. Return, please, in for the fitting in four days. Then we will see.”

 An expensive investment which he will outgrow, but worth it the more tightly it fits him. 

* * *

At home that night, I touched my boy’s bewitching flesh with tongue and fingers in sensuous continuity. From his side, I moved to lie on him, aware of our beating hearts, the suck and sag of the bellows of our lungs, our risen sex organs, and relished his stretches and arches of anticipation.

He grew lightheaded at the sight of three bottles labeled with the names of essential oils which some of his tissues had been introduced to – peppermint, ginger root, and black pepper. These were larger. They contained my mixtures of those oils with glycerin – designed to advance sexual response when used to fuck. My intention was that he, the most susceptibly nubile boy in my experience, begin to associate pleasure through by means of progressive pain.

“Lift your legs. I will treat your bottom.” He wanted to speak. To give permission, I slid a finger where treatment was needed.

“You put some of that on me before – and I didn’t like it.”

I ignored his disdain for what he would have to get used to. “This mixture is a dilution of the original. It goes not around the outer area but in, as a lube for our congress. We both will tingle from its warming potential.”

 I familiarized him by a coating on my finger. “See? You barely know it’s there.”

Before he became aware that it had to be absorbed, I coated my condom-covered cock with the peppermint version and drilled steadily inside. Moving my thickness like a slow train, I pulled away. He clenched. His nipples pebbled. I covered his mouth, felt his quiverous response at each deepening beat into him, and drove demandingly until final grinding, moaning agony took him to orgasm first, then sent me toppling from the heights of dominance to the low meadow of peace…while he cried stiflingly into my hand.

Outside, my cock stripped of its protection, I re-entered and, for the first time, jetted into him the contents of my bladder. “There, there, you’ll evacuate all of it on the toilet.” Relief showed on his face when he returned, dry-eyed, silent, to bed.

* * *

Arman-Pierre’s slavish efforts resulted in a latex puppy suit which, when fitted, contained the seventeen-year-old’s body like a second skin. Made-to-measure special features could retain his genitals for presentation as a man’s playthings or cache them uncomfortably when stimulated to arousal by his personal rear implements.

Anders made such appropriate sounds as his penis-gag permitted when fondled by both of us.

“All you have and those of others can be situated, exchanged, worn to his sexual dismay – which is proper for a pet,” he touted. “For this beautiful pup, I have two new inventions of mine – tails unlike any others. This stiff one anchors in at his limit – your length, and cannot be ejected by pelvic floor muscles.”

He regarded me seriously, “Withdraw it with the greatest of care. Do no damage to so precious a companion.”

“I’m his trainer. Always careful. Nurturing. Go on. What’s that amazing…thing?”

“My other invention.” He showed it to Anders, whose eyes, like mine, had not imagined the like.

“This flexible tail has a snake to goes far inside. Look at the end and see how it has a copperhead shape. That is the most wonderful part of my design.”

A lubricant I did not recognize was applied from snakehead along the perfectly round body to the lock-in-place, hip-like flare and narrow ‘waist’ before the wider base.

“Boy, present!” Arman-Pierre ordered. “I assume, from the healthy color there, that you fucked him before coming here.”

I did not need to answer: Anders did, with much nodding of his hood-shrouded head.

“Eh bien, the head goes easily through the anus and into the rectum – looking in its dark for the boy’s sigmoid sphincter. Aha, I feel it resisting. I push. Natural mucosa help the head to pop through. Feel it,” he directed me. “His two sphincters have claimed it and, you see, the tail is anchored now very well.”

Impressed, I asked Anders if he felt more like a real puppy. He showed us by clambering around and trying various muffled noises.

On his feet briefly, he hugged us both before taking happily to the floor.

Arman-Pierre told me to unzip for proof to come. Erect for some time, my cock sprang from my pleat-front trousers. It hardened more as Ander’s mouth was freed of its gag and he let his tongue hang out, panting, dripping. “Now, pup, on your haunches. Show me how you devote your mouth and that lappy-happy tongue to your trainer’s cock.”

“Those will get wet. Shed them,” Arman-Louis pointed to my pants.

I did. Removed my shirt, too. Arman-Pierre has seen all of me before.

The shiny-black boy-pup’s form scooted before me, tongue out. He looked, slurped edges, underside, and balls, and pressed his mouth onto me. Talent was behind the way he bathed the object of his attentions. Off, he licked his lips; on, he munched hungrily. With a deep breath through his nose, he took me to the back of his throat and tried to hold the position. Instinctively in the moment, I moved in, hitting his uvula, causing a gag.

He tried to move back. I seized his mask’s upright dog ears and did not let him. “Suck, pup! You’ve taken it before. Take it now. Gag as much as you have to.” Without relenting, I shifted his head side to side. “Swallow, dammit.” He struggled. I slapped his cheek’s latex. Gave him breathing room, then sank my cock partway. Out, and back in, now frustrating his efforts to catch some air, now threatening to enter his throat.

“A mongrel can do better than that. Gulp it! Flatten that tongue! Swallow!”

Saliva cascaded. Mucous drooled out as he choked marvelously on the throat-searching head of my cock.

I let him rest, only a few inches of me in his mouth. As he heaved for air, I told him, “You are not now Anders the silly boy. You are my pup and you should be loving me with your mouth.”

A slap sent him into the right headspace. He lunged onto me, gagging himself noisily but not giving up.

“That’s better. You are getting there. Making a better impression on your tailor. Show him how loving you can be.”

Prepping himself with air, shifting his shoulders a little, my precious pup took me – buried me – into his throat where I shot the truth-serum of cocks not wrenchingly deep.

Arman-Pierre was astonished. For, when the vibrations ceased shaking us and the room stopped spinning for us, I cradled my pup through his blurred recovery, pacifying him with a tender hand to his crotch and the repeated phrase, “You matter so much.”

* * *

“Hi, Mom,” he was cheerful when she called near the end of his third week with me. “No, ma’am, I haven’t told him yet. Do you want to?”

I took the ’phone, “Hello, Mrs. Bottoms. What should I know? His birthday? He’s turning eighteen? Yes, we’ll do something special. What’s that your sister is saying in the background – I should remember to spank him for that occasion? Just love taps of course.”

In his jock sock only, Anders lay over my lap wanting me to tap his plug while talking.

“Discipline and love go well together in a boy at this time of life. Mostly, he’s fine in public, well under control with erect posture. He welcomes the combination now. Expects it from me.”

I interrupted her drivel, “And remember his weak legs? You heard about them from Dr. Apollyon. Specific squatting exercises have done a lot for those.”

I detached the plug, discarded it in favor of two fingers, handed him the phone

“It’s me, Mom. You wouldn’t believe how upright my posture is. No slumping at all. I just can’t. My hygiene? Good, oral and otherwise. Sleep habits? Under him – I mean under his supervision – I am a lot less restless. I mean, like right now, he’s – um – stabilizing me. Wow! That would be great. Want to ask him?”

“Hello again. Guardianship? For how long?” Awkwardly holding to my chest the mouthpiece, I informed him, “She wants to stay in Nebraska for the foreseeable future. I’d really be your tough-love parent.”

A third finger was sought by his butt.

“Send the check and the fully executed papers. Only then will we have a deal. Meanwhile, I think he’ll benefit from enrollment in a special camp where both the doctor and I will be senior counselors. Yes, dedicated to teenagers with problems which need positive solutions.”

He whispered that I should tell her about his suit.

“If you’ll be so kind, double the amount of your check. That will cover the new, black suit my tailor made for him. He enjoys wearing it. Feels very mature and serious in it. I know, you could never have gotten him to wear such a suit. In fact, I’m taking him in it to a party – my heavens, yes, it’s actually on his birthday – a party where he can be seen in it with pride.”

Thus began the rest of this puppy’s tale.

[The present story, my 100th for Gaydemon, awaits your response as I await your possible encouragement to move forward with such tales as may come to me from ideas currently simmering. Please know that the dedicated readership I note daily – even of such little things as Alcuin of York and The Knight’s Visit – means loads to me. In view of the phenomenally progressive sex my Piano Study’s chapters incorporate, I wonder why it remains little read…. E-mails directly to me are fodder for connection to readers - and always are answered. Don't be shy.]