A Puppy's Tale

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

I.

On an invisible leash, Anders followed my every step as he had been told. Obedience, incipient in his case, suited him to a tee. I knew it from the moment he was entrusted to me.

*

“I was given your name,” she said over the telephone. “Our shrink thinks my son Anders needs to play out his fantasy about being a puppy.”

Sympathy in my voice, I encouraged her to tell me more.

“He can walk, of course but, at home on our smooth floor, he likes being on all fours jaybird naked – has since he used to follow his childhood puppy as it scampered around. We all loved it at first, but he’s now almost eighteen and his bits – which have sprouted – are beginning to wobble. ”

I held my breath. A late bloomer. 

She backed up.

“I had to home school him because he’s never wanted to wear clothes. ‘Pups don’t have clothes,’ he’d say indignantly. Because of the computer, he knows that all puppies need training to be good. And he’s noticed,’ her voice trembled, ‘that he doesn’t have a curly tail. Oh, I don’t know how to say this, but he wants one – isn’t that silly? – and he wants a leash. At his age. And to be trained, or didn’t I say that?”

“Mrs. Bottoms, have you or your psychiatrist monitored the sites he visits online, I mean the ones about puppies?”

“Dr. Apollyon has. It’s his professional obligation to find out these things, you know. He says Anders is ready for and needs a really experienced guiding hand at this stage in his life if he’s ‘not to be emotionally compromised or conflicted.’ Your work in the past, he says, has been successful – you know, with troubled youths.”

“That it has,” I told her. “I take only cases where I have reasonable expectations that results will be positive. To know that, I’ll need an interview with Anders.”

*

Arrangements made, fluffy headed Anders was delivered to my door. He looked younger than his years. One glance at his luminous brown eyes, diminutive nose (I was sure it would prove cool to the touch), and hands held limply in front of his chest sufficed. I thanked his Mom, told her to “give us an hour or so,” watched her drive off (after promising to call later for her pick up), and welcomed him inside.

Skittish, shy, Anders struck me as fairly cute. Not enough to have attitude. A buttoned shirt and elastic-waisted casual pants concealed what I wanted to see – his torso, tummy, and backside. About five feet seven inches tall, he already looked like a candidate for my ‘veterinary’ inclinations and skills.

Looking around at my front hall, about the living room, led with curiosity down the cellar steps to the space beyond, and openly staring there at a long strip of grass-green Astroturf, a large-size doggy bed, my selection of collars and leashes, some rubber dog-bone toys, and insertable tails, he gasped, “Are these for me?”

He had no idea what the padded paws and knee pads were. I said nothing about them. Masks were secreted in drawers.

“That remains to be seen. If you’re serious about being a puppy, why are you in those clothes?”

Kid catches on quickly. Totally naked in…in no more than a minute, a hopeful look on his face.

I snapped my finger at the Astroturf, “Hands and knees, now. Good boy. You’re obedient, I’m sure. Nod yes. Okay. Stay like that. I’m going to check your conformation. Nice face. Show me your tongue. Further out than that. All right. I’ll teach you how to use it for lapping, that is if you pass this interview.”

Move on him before he gets second thoughts.

I went on, “My fingers around your neck – yes – I have several collars just your size. Hmm, smooth skin on your back. Good pups like to be rubbed. I can tell you do. No one at home ever rub you like this? How ’bout your tummy? Oh, you’re ticklish. I like that – a sign of sensitivity. Wag your bottom for me. Good. I’m going to feel it now. Both sides and in the middle. That’s it.”

He’s with me.

“Hold your position. You want to be a puppy but there’s no tail here. I’m going to test the spot right here to check you out. This jar has Vaseline in it, to make my finger smooth. A doggy’s temperature is taken here, not in the mouth. Okay with you?”

Nodding yes seemed natural to him in his proto-kennel mode.

“Where I’m tapping is where my finger must go. If your arms aren’t too tired, use them to push back your bottom – like that, onto my finger. Good pup! Deep breath now and let it out as I….

Yes! You’re so obedient. I like that. No, don’t squeeze. Just let yourself get use to the feeling, Anders. There. Now my finger’s going to go back and forth so everything gets smoothed out. Mmm…you’ve a talent for this.”

Something else was smoothing out, his pubescent pipi.

There, I’ve found his joy button! I’ll have fun with it.

“Spread your knees a little. I’m going to reach under with my other hand to rub you outside while I’m rubbing you inside.

Ohmigod, he’s going to have a fit. Out, quick!                                                                         

“You are on you way to passing this exam. I’ll sit in that armchair. You, in my lap. Lie back now, like a good boy pup, in my arms. Relax completely. I’m going to cuddle you and rub your tum-tum and kiss the top of your sweet head – just like I would an obedient doggy.”

After a while, he was practically falling asleep atop my hardness. 

I long to have him completely, but no, no…. Too soon.

I woke him. Told him to put on his clothes. Called his Mom. Readied him to return home. Even put some doggy-biscuit-shaped ginger snap cookies in a bag for him. Told to behave himself like a boy, and to wait for the next opportunity. “You can ask to be brought back for training,” I planted the idea. “You don’t know beans about puppy play, puppy love, puppy life.”

He was bold, “You want to train me?”

I could not be sure a razor had yet touched his sweet cheeks.

*

Mrs. Bottoms and I conferred. “Anders has been pestering me,” she said, a tone of hope in her voice. “Can he learn to behave?”

“Yes, he can. Needs discipline, not indulgence or forbearance. If you board him with me for, say, a month, we can see what progress he makes. Your son needs a lot of attention, personal attention. I have the time in my schedule and the expertize. You can ask Dr. Apollyon. He has my privileged report. But, be sure. Take Anders back for a consultation with him – and trust the result.”

                                                                             *

“This is Mrs. Bottoms. I’m calling about my son Anders.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bottoms?”

“Anders had a three-hour session with Dr. Apollyon this afternoon. Hypnosis was involved. I wasn’t told the details but the doctor assured me that…that Anders really wants what you ‘can do with him.’ Actually, the proposed month of boarding him with you would have a practical side.”

“What would that be?”

“My sister and I could visit our cousins in Nebraska. We haven’t seen them in several years because, well, we couldn’t leave Anders on his own. He can’t take care of himself and, anyway, he might do something that would embarrass the neighbors – carrying on in the yard like he was a dog, lifting his leg to do something nasty. He’s that way.”

“Very well, I see. No problem for me.”

Quick to ante up the agreed-to sum, Mrs. Bottoms and her sister Connie delivered Anders to my door. On their way down my drive, Connie sang out, “You be good, y’hear, and mind your manners.”

In his hands were a small suitcase with his clothes and school books. He smiled and straightened his shoulders. As I closed the front door, I pointed the way to the cellar door. He promptly abandoned bag and books to scoot downstairs where he stripped and knelt. On the Astroturf.

I noticed a reddened butt. “What happened back there?”

“Aunt Connie punished me with her hand.” He started to cry, “She said I was bad.”

I opened a lotion bottle and began soothing the cool stuff into the rounded places. “Tell me, what did you do?” With extra on my finger, I slipped in his hole, saying, “Puppies need to be punished if they’re misbehaving.”

Even seventeen-year-olds.

“I wasn’t,” he croaked. “I just wanted to be like I want to be. You know…. I was trying to be friendly from my position on the floor by kissing her ankles and sniffing up her dress.”

“Go on. What did she do next?”

“Something Mom never did. Do I have to tell?”

“With me, you must always tell – and tell the truth or I will have to spank you.”

“Oh. She really hurt my bottom with her hand. She hits fast and hard. I was yelling. Mom came to see. She made her stop. She told her, ‘Connie, stop that! He can’t help himself.’ Only she didn’t stop until Mom grabbed her hand. Told me to get my things, that she was taking me to your house where you would treat me as I should be treated.”

“Feel better now?”

“I do. Especially the way you’re moving your finger like that.”

“Keep talking.”

“I have a question.”

Rotating in his loosening channel, I gave permission.

“If I was bad, would you spank me like she did?”

“There are degrees of badness for a boy. I might have to spank your face. That’s called slapping. Or – stand up, hands on your head, legs apart – I might tap your balls like this, only harder. That’s striking. It depends. Worse though is striping with a hickory stick or a leather lash – extreme cases only require those. Don’t you worry. Not for as nice a boy as you.”

It occurred to me to add, “I could use a ruler on the soles of your feet and, holding your legs up, on your bottom. That smarts most effectively.”

For effect, I cleared my throat to speak more lightly, “However, Anders, under certain conditions, spanking gives pleasure. You’ll want to find out.”

I studied the plea in his expression. Smiled. Removed my finger. Looked it over. Sniffed. “You are safe to ask my permission to speak but always and only when on the end of my finger. Here, behave like a puppy and sniff my finger. Smell yourself.”

At the wrinkle of his nose, I steered him to the bathroom area. Warm water filled my injector’s bulb, the one with a small-prick-shaped nozzle. Soon the water filled Anders, whose upper body was supported on his knees. “Crimp to hold it in and stand up.” Fingering his cock, I said, “I want this to stand up, too.

He responded well to my testing his balls, holding them fondly, surrounding them for a little pressure. Just enough to prompt his erection’s firmness.

On the toilet, he voided. Was shown that the water did not run cleanly. After second and third injections and their evacuations – accompanied by kisses to his yielding lips – he was pronounced “ready for training.”

“Listen carefully. Before you can deserve to be trained as a puppy, you must be trained as a boy. So, we will start now on your obedience as a boy.”

I stood behind him to ease my greased finger into his cleaned fundament. Thrust upward. Any harder and he would have toppled off his tiptoes. Thus secured, welcoming sounds met my feeling and light pinching of niblet nipples. He saw us in the nearby mirror and smiled when I said, “Be proud of being my boy. Especially when I want to do this” – and began manipulating his teen’s throbby organs.

Took him close to eruption, my finger behind tickling near, not on his prostate. In his closest ear, I whispered, “Important to both boy and the pup you want to be is what I had you show me earlier, your tongue. Together, we will develop its worthiness through kissing. Together means that you must meet me head on. I challenge you to do so.”

Surprise appeared all over his smooth, young face. He let me take him in my embrace.

Between us, a sort of sportsmanship evolved involving open-mouth kissing: tongues fenced and jousted as if one were a cock, the other in that role a moment later. Hands nurtured opposing cocks through my clothes or on his bare skin. Forced him lower with, “You can kiss my cock all the way to the back of your throat.” He did.

I heard music in gurgles and gags, so blurted encouragements. Backed off his head, pulled it forward, “Like this, give me head, boy.”

I saw joy in his adolescent boy’s eyes every time he went down for a novice blow-job on the tackily-termed ‘skin flute’ being waved in his face, disbelief occasionally feigned for fun. And then there were Anders’s outlandishly sensitive, newly matured balls to wheedle, ruffle, cajole, tease, harrow, torment. Whether or not in either opening with flexing digit or with my own grand pole, the Anders Bottoms’ ballbag tempted my elder fingers, palms, lips tongue, and teeth – for the effects that I had heard described by: ears roaring, eyes seeing spangles.

He was mine! 

Before the day was out and he was settled in my bed, I had Anders respectfully remove my clothes and feel my adult, superior body’s front. I had had him again on his knees to lap my balls – a lovely sight, him being so small that his neck had to be bent way back. I contemplated the time when, his head lolling back over the side of my bed would bulge as my cock moved under his Adam’s apple and he strangled to send me into orgasm.

Now slumbering from exhaustion, he had no defense against two fingers working his boy hole. “So you can have a doggy tail tomorrow,” I murmured. Even crossed my fingers as when making a wish – and reamed him well.

I did not fuck him – then.

*

After breakfast, the toilet and our shower, his eyes widened at my explanation of the equipment on hand for his body. Cuffs and padded paw gloves would simplify and cushion his time on the floor. Black leather harnesses simple and complex. Partial and full latex doggy head-masks! One by one, I showed him several.

I witnessed him close his eyes to imagine the sensory deprivation – so showed him the openings for eyes, holes for breathing, spandex fittings. Pointed out the upright ears. “Hearing is somewhat curtailed, but you’ll be leashed and commanded by my signals.”

I felt his excited genitals. “These, like those of real animals, will always be hanging free when you’re on your hands and knees. As for these,” I indicated the plug tails, “this morning I will begin your preparation to enjoy them.”

*

For my own comfort, I took him in my bedroom. Aquaphor on two fingers slicked pucker and passage, the remainder plus some extra glistened on my erection. My overstuffed leather arm chair welcomed his knees to its cushion and his chin to its backrest. With an adjustment to his rump’s position, I fitted my blunt, broad cockbulb to the punch-through spot, pulled him onto me, kissed his head like a good dad, thrust in half my length, and waited for the sound of stunned surprise.

He reacted with pained fright. Cried out in protest and at the hurt.

I remained where I was until his agony began to ebb. Took a while. However, his ass lips tested my breadth before he let out a hiss of acceptance, and I safely mashed all the way.

At rest inside, I reached to find on his flat, unshaped chest its two soft studs, rubbed them, enjoyed his cream-smooth stomach, diddled his smartly tilted erection, and impressed my hirsute torso’s bulk and strength on his weak body to reinforce the idea of superiority.

Throbs of pulse on the steely hardness of my cock I thought evidence of burning desire for engagement. Abruptly, I scrunched noisily, almost growling, and commenced to fuck the velvety, hot, slippery walls of Anders’ virgin ass. He whimpered his pain but took me to his full…probably eight inches.

I used long, gentle strokes to usher him into gradual acceptance of man cock before fucking faster and more decisively. How my cock broadened the valley of his butt! I pounded my way to moans (mine), cries (his), and groans (ours) morphed into a heavenly duo of fucker and fuckee.

Fifteen or so minutes of this tired him.

I raised him up, lifted his limp body by my cock and arms, turned around and slumped into the chair. “Lie back, my boy. I will cuddle you like I did before and,” almost quoting myself, “rub your tum-tum and kiss the top of your sweet head – just like I would an obedient son. This time, my cock’s in where it belongs, where I’m going to keep it while you rest.”

Evidence that Anders was a natural bottom boy – with great potential for my kind of puppy play – happened a couple of minutes later.

“I’m going to cum,” he gasped in surprise that he could not stop what resulted from just having his ass fucked. Schoolboy-clear spunk blasted from twitching cock. Spasms around fully eight of my ten inches provoked me into fucking him even as he sat. Lost in his intense, orgasmic high, milk-white Anders flushed bright red – face, neck, chest – and flopped about as I gave him nearly everything I had.

This man’s fat shaft’s rapid movements paid dividends. My dam broke. I flooded him inside. Pumping until my juices squelched onto and soaked into my pubes, I realized I had taken all the advantage of the morning.

*

After showering and having lunch, I spoke sincerely. “Our morning fuck went well enough, Anders. You complied as you should when in my care. If you are sore, there’s a rapid-healing cream I can put into you. You can reply freely.”

With a bit of saliva on my finger, I popped it in his receptive hole.

“Are you going to fuck me again, like, you know, earlier?”

“It is incumbent upon me to do so this afternoon and again this evening.”

“I want to be satisfactory so you will make me into a proper pup.” 

As he started to speak again, I pulled out.

“Even if it hurts, you must fuck me, right?”

My arms-crossed study of his puzzlement tested his nearly eighteen-year-old patience. It mattered to make him wait – a form of obedience.

“Your scrawny butt needs to be opened and worked on a great deal by fingers and cock before you are ready to be presented your first puppy tail.” I did not let him ask the question on his lips. “My pups wear their tails all day, every day, sometimes all night. It’s crucial to the life style. I change them for larger sizes in due course so that pups remain alert to their status.”

His orbs opened as that sank in.

Hydrocortisone cream and a nap proved helpful.

My fingers woke him after two hours. “You tightened. You must be opened anew. Take both pillows. Put one under your tummy. The other’s for your head.”

Drowsy, he managed – with fingers tugging and pushing as he settled.

In that prone position, he was screwed with rhythmic commitment for only minutes before I came. “Tonight, when I do this for you again, I want your toes turned in to touch each other. Your tissues will enfold me even better and I can drive you more thoroughly.”

His turn to surprise. “Watch. I’ll do that for you now. Fuck me. The way you said – thoroughly. I want you to.”

“What you want doesn’t matter. But since you asked so politely, I will and, this time, I’ll treat you to a deposit of me, from me, as copious as the first time.”

I tossed dispassion aside. Streamlined into my boy. Forty or fifty minutes I later judged, I was hauling his ashes to relieve him of whatever had built up in his balls since the morning – when he jolted a few times and sent me plunging, lunging out of control. My build-up since sought its outlet through the one full-bodied tool designed for that purpose and his destiny, my rampant cock.

Climax did not stop me. I kept at him, my scalp tingling at the sensations of coasting freely and as far as I could in his continuously beckoning, wet butt.

What? Was he retaliating? He seemed – no, he actually was canting his butt a degree or two up at me. Emotion flicked its alarm! Was he liking what I was doing or was he liking me, that I was doing this to him? Liking me? My heart thumped. I hung on him, babbling quietly about loving his ass…about loving being in his ass…about his progress as a subject for my training.

Ants crawled on my cock it felt. On my scrotum and its swingers now banging against his flesh, I felt maddening need to let go another time. Pelvic bone to butt, cock at maximum depth, I froze hard, gasped as in the throes of death, and shot voluminously hundreds of millions of spermatozoa where they wriggled in frenzies of ova-less death.

I fell from Anders’ back. Lay humidly beside him with the word ‘love’ almost on my parted lips. Shuddered away from saying it, aware I might lose myself in its irrelevancies. I would love making him heel, sit, fetch, stay, come…and cum, as and when I wished.

That night, anxious to please, he undressed, filled my injector’s bulb with warm water, presented it to me, and took the position leaning forward, knees supporting his hands. Saw the look I bore, turned his backside to my outthrust finger, obviously remembering my rule to skewer himself. Said, “Please help me to be your best boy.”

I conquered my heart’s flutters, dosed him with the bulb’s contents, used my finger as a stopper, and walked him around from room to room. “I must see how you move, liquid inside, steered by this alone. Learn from my finger.”

In the bathroom, I retracted my finger slowly, “Clench now, let not a drop out. Sit on the toilet. Hold it. Hold it. Tell me what you feel.”

Uncertain about expressing himself, he looked like an abandoned child. “I…uh…I feel that you want me to show I can obey you. Is that right?”

“You will show me. Pay heed. I want you to spritz out just a little of the water and to hold back the rest.”

The effort cost him more than it should, but enough remained. He got better at spritzing, the new concept registering in his simple mind. Empty, he was without shame, without any pretense – a boy waiting.

“Stand and turn. I’ll wash my baby’s bottom.” It was the chance to test his sphincter control with an unlubed finger.

“You pass. In the bedroom with you,” I snapped. In short order and with a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen, I ordered him to take a tablespoon or so of it in his mouth and to kneel. “Do not swallow. Purse your lips. Your mouth will spread the oil as far down on my cock as you can.”

This first time, I left it up to him to go down on me as he might. Four inches proved his mouth’s limit. Eyes brimming, he looked up for guidance, tried to use his tongue, but choked, swallowed oil, dared not pull back, was embarrassed and fearful of what I might mete out for failing.

“To the floor on your back. Raise your ankles. Not tomorrow. Today. Here, I’ll take those.” I pushed his legs further and further until his tightly closed hole aligned with my cock. Shock took possession of his face at my rapid, oily penetration. Without mercy, I stared at his distress. “You will learn – if it takes the whole bottle of olive oil.”

He could reach only my forearms. “Better hold tight.” With those three words, I bored in, rummaged mightily, then lay into him with the force of a drunken sailor. Heaving to and fro faster than earlier in the day, I obliterated his worries. The channel was smooth as silk. Absence of friction, a thrill in itself.

During that fuck, my Anders learned the reserves of strength my lower back muscles possessed. I was in him so lengthily and so vigorously that I moved him several inches across the carpet. Orgasming as his head struck the wall, I propelled freshly accumulated sperm onto what remained of his little bump inside, forcing from him an ejaculation during which he yelped.

I’d teach him to bark tomorrow or the next day.

 Two Advil for his head and consolatory kisses made him better.

Sleep would cure his ache.

                                                                           *

Compliant with cockly concupiscence after his night’s sleep, Anders came into my waiting hand. Without a word of instruction, he licked what I offered his mouth. “Good boy,” made his face betray the barest of sleepy smiles.

Under one of my overlarge undershirts, his slim body appeared smaller than its age. Little-boyish, which appealed to me. As such, he helped with breakfast. We ate to the newscast and weather report. Rain on the way meant a day indoors. “Just what we needed. Wash the dishes while I bring up some things to fit on you. And think of putting some olive oil where you will want it to be.”

*

“Foremost,” I held out the tangle of leather straps and nickel fittings, “is a halter. This one’s for my boy today. Hold your arms out in front. This part goes here, over your chest. That hangs down. This collar, for your neck, is only an inch wide and doesn’t need to be tight, only snug. Okay. You’re looking better. Handsomer.

“These wrist cuffs are fleece-lined and must fit this way. See the clasps? They let me fasten your hands together comfortably in front or behind. Or, for certain events, I can fasten them to your halter at chest level; behind, up near your shoulder blades. My steel O-ring, let me show you, goes at the base of your penis and scrotum, the way I’m pulling them through now. Stand still. It won’t hurt once in place. Keeps those playthings together.

“Your front strap snaps onto the O-ring and – voila – what’s there’s supported within easy reach.”

Guess where I tantalized?

He moved his upper body the little that he could. What could come next?

“Now for the ankle cuffs. Sit back on the chair and raise your legs. Like those on your wrists, these can be fastened together this way or to a link of chain or something more severe – like a spreader bar.”

He had no idea.

“We’ll get to that, only not today. Keep ’em up, boy. Use your stomach muscles. Soles can be tickled or smacked – remember that. Of course, if you’re too weak and I want them up, I can attach these cord links to them and to the bottom of the O-ring, or to your collar – and they won’t move. Access, you understand, unimpeded access to your butt or any boy’s butt for pleasure or punishment.”

“Oh,” more a sound than a word.

My hands feathered their way across poochy perineum, over such curves as invited, into the shallow trench between, and around his promising, yet-reddened pucker. “Where you need something most, I know, my boy. Getting you ready for puppification.”

Trussed, he was utterly dependent – on me. I stepped close, boosted forward, bucked inside and, as he twitched trying to settle around me, adapted a jog’s stride. Sounds of pain became sighs of contentment and turned into huffs the more energetically I ground his ass. Straps enabled my arms to add impact to my rut of him. His glance became a glare as my desire coiled like a snake.

It was not venom that spat from his cock to splash on contained flesh and binding leathers. My throat hummed as I screwed him with twists and turns and whipped up a colloidal froth of sperm and oil before becoming winded.

“Aren’t you proud? You get the best out of me every time.” I rubbed his bobbing balls with the base of both thumbs. With the same thumbs, I picked up and smeared his adolescent juice on nipples and lips, and streaked it along the lines of his jaw – “So you can smell yourself.”

He sniffed while I pressed in a small butt plug. Took it out, slid in a narrow dildo. Gave it a few turns. Reset the plug. Replaced it with some of a spiraled dildo and let it rest – briefly hanging out of him. Taps to its end worked the device about six inches. Perhaps seven. It was not much longer.

Where that had been, I inserted a plug, small but with a difference. A button on its wide end activated vibrations. Got my captive’s attentions. But not like the nipple cups accompanied moments later by fingers roaming where plug had been.

What a load his ass sheltered. So impressive I almost want to fuck him again.

Didn’t. No. Had a plan. It involved the next size plug in his butt and a leash clipped to his collar – a walk, not in the park, but in my grassy, rain-damp back yard. I lifted Anders to unsteady feet, flipped the leash to let him know it was there. “Time for my boy to have a stroll.”

I led, he trailed not far behind. Needed help as he stepped warily on unmowed grass. “Stand up straight, boy, in case the neighbors are watching. Walk proudly. Show them you’re a trainee who knows he’s in the best hands. Ahead of me now. I want to see you’re carrying the plug well.”

I gave it a nudge and some symbolic spanks to encourage his moving butt cheeks. He stepped lively then. Leash in hand, I moved so that I was leading while walking backward. Wanted to see his cock and balls being jostled in their ring.

“Stop. Stand. You’re hard.” I tickled his testicles but did not touch his dick. “Is it from being plugged while walking, from the fact that you are cinched up, or what? Tell me.”

He remembered that he was to speak only with my finger in him. Made a gesture.

‘My plug’s in you. It’s as if. Speak.”

“I’m on your leash like a pup. I’m so excited.”

“Drop down on your knees, pup-to-be. Suck my cock.”

Rather than the poorly concealed dismay of my most recent candidate in similar circumstances, Anders went at once mouth deep, then gamely, gallantly further forward to gag, reverse, swallow, gag again, reverse, swallow, drop his tongue, and take me for breathtakingly longer than any cock novice I recalled.  I pulled his head off, tilted it back, brushed the hair from his adoring eyes, leaned down, kissed him full on the mouth, let go, spat on my erection, and jammed it where it had been. “Suck my cock like you mean it, boy!”

His was the knack, believe me. I felt like a prospector striking gold. My rushing streamlets went gullet-down, their sperm dying in agonies of digestive fluids. He licked me clean. I hugged him with one arm and, with the other, jiggled his plug. Had him stand.

I wrapped the leash several times around his balls – forcing them to jut out – and let the end hang between his legs. “Go to the far fence, turn, and walk yourself back to me.”

A beguiling sight.

A heartstring twanged. The trust was there. The susceptibility. Above the rest, the teen’s desire to imitate his actual pet puppy. His mom’s annoyance, her frustration, her liberation – for a month – and my bounty.

To begin his orientation to appliances he must expect, I directed him downstairs to the shelf where my leash and his first collar were returned. “This collar’s slightly wider. Let’s affix it around your neck!” I admired the result.

“By now I’m imagining you’d like to empty your lower tract of what my plug’s helping you to keep in place. Right?”

His winsome smile came close to disarming me.

“I want you to accept your lot – plug securing my load – while I strip away your harness. And the O-ring. There. Look in the mirror. See how beautifully your skin’s marked off in rectangles by the pressure of the straps you were in? I’m now going to restore all the circulation it had before.”

I showed him how his cuffed wrists were to slip onto the hook, sturdily mounted in my ceiling. “Nice. You’re all stretched out. This is a multi-strand, satin-strip flogger. It won’t hurt. But you, a mere novice, can imagine that one made of leather strips would smart something fierce. Enjoy the sensation of every inch of your body’s largest organ being brought – through flogging – to life again. My warning, Anders: No matter how good it makes you feel, how relaxed you become thinking about your situation with me in control, keep a good squeeze on your plug and on what I personally placed in you."

Although my halter had immobilized the upper half of the boy’s body, I flogged everywhere – from obvious areas such as rib cage and stomach to buttocks, backs of knees, insteps, genitals, armpits, grasping fingers – and laughed when my whipping tickled him mercilessly. Twice, I stopped and pretended (silently, of course) to want to pull out his butt’s plug. He was quick to hold it more tightly.

His chest heaved as he remained fully attenuated. While he watched in the mirror, I slipped behind him and fiddled with a screw-on attachment for his plug. It had an air bulb and valve. I began pumping air into his plug, expanding it, and amazing him. His cock got the message. Each time I pumped, it plumped. In time with the next few pumps, I squeezed his balls.

Had my boy swinging and, in a rather high-pitched way, singing.

Took him off the hook, made him contract as I opened the valve, pulled out the deflated plug, let him void my sperm and the high colonic I just administered. In his resulting weakened state, he knew something else was coming his butt’s way.

First though, were knee-pads. Wearing them, he knelt to eat lunch which I had placed on the seat of a kitchen chair turned from the table. “This time you get to use your hands. At supper, they’ll be clicked together. Finish your milk. Wipe your mouth with that napkin. Remember when I wrapped my leash around your balls before lunch?”

He nodded.

“They’re going to be wrapped again – in this. It’s a ball stretcher. A kind of snap-on belt, as you’ll soon know. One inch wide like your first collar was.”

With it forcing them out front, his balls looked very tempting. “There’s a link for my leash. We’re almost ready for me to lead you out for another walk on the grass. Would you like a tail?”

Mistake: He answered aloud, “Yes.”

Chagrined that he was to be punished, Anders probably expected a spanking. Rather, I employed the leash’s loop to place some red stripes across his buttocks. And, as we made our way out the back door – him on his knee pads – his ass received a vibrating bullet. “Come,” I said with a tug of his tightly wrapped balls, “display how you can walk on your knees as a pup-boy.”

His clumsiness prompted, “You’re not concentrating! I guess you need help. Stay.” I darted inside and returned with a black blindfold. “You think only of walking in the direction my leash pulls your boy balls.”

Once, he almost fall on his face. We were near the back fence. “Only a matter of balance. Squeeze your bullet into my hand.” I turned it off, pocketed same after he sniffed and made no face, directed him to fill my hand with saliva, anointed my cock with it, and fucked him as he stood. Diligent that he learn, I kept going past his thwarted orgasm, thrusting and saying, “You seem to listen better when I’m in your butt.”

Without orgasm of my own, I slid out. “Get back up on your knees and lets double-time it back to the house. Move those knees or I’ll really hurt your balls before we even get to that part on schedule.”

Terror motivated!

In the house on his back, legs up (minus knee pads), hole tipped for view, Anders’ breath whooshed sharp and hard. I wasn’t talkative. I was demonstrative.

“Animal behavior, especially of the K9 type needs skill, boy.” In went my two fingers. “You may speak now, but do so with respect for what I’m good at.”

He did speak, nervously, to my opening and closing them like scissors where he was loosest. “I’m trying. Honestly, I am. It’s all happening so fast. I get confused and worried.”

I kept my peace. He could remain puzzled for a little – while being widened for my pleasure.

 (to be continued)

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