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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