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A Dog’s Tale (Part 6)

He held out as long as he could. For a while, just having the gear was enough for him to feel better–even his performance at work improved, though he still found it difficult to care about any of it. He would get done, rush home, and spend a few hours in the gear Joel had given him, parading around, doing tricks, fantasizing about a…Master coming home to find him there, and he’d greet him like a good boy and suck his cock. He kept the mask on all night, even when he had to go back to doing human things, like making dinner, or doing chores around his apartment. It was hard to look at himself without it on, in fact–he just felt so ugly when he had to look at himself. It was no longer a face he could ever want to have, for the rest of his life.

In time, this became failed to satisfy–mostly because he found himself longing for something he imagined every dog must long for to some extent–he wanted an owner. He wanted a master. He wanted a man who would come home, like he imagined in his dreams–who would play with him, and feed him, and fuck him, and go to the dog park with him. That’s what he really wanted, and thinking about it while he jacked off with his paws, it felt so empty–his life felt empty. One night, when he’d had too much to drink, he asked an old boyfriend to fuck him while he was in gear, but the guy called him a freak and blocked him. No one from his life would understand this–no one except one. He knew where Joel was–why wasn’t he going to him?

One Saturday, he decided he’d go and see what the place looked like. Strangely enough, he couldn’t find anything about the place on the internet, and he worried that Joel had been leading him on just to make him suffer. He went to one of his regular bars instead and after a couple of drinks he asked the bartender about it, and the man grew quiet. “Look, if you’re smart, you’ll stay the fuck away from that place. It’s a fucking freakshow, trust me.”

He pressed the young man for more details, but he seemed…a bit shaken. Still, he managed to get directions out of him, and after chugging down the last bit of his drink, he grabbed his bag from the coat check and headed over to Pigtown, which it turned out was just a few blocks away, towards the area of the neighborhood which dissolved into the industrial and warehouse district. Sure enough, there it was–how had he never even heard of the place before? He buzzed the bell, and was a bit worried when it didn’t open right away, and he saw a camera in a corner of the doorframe. Were they inspecting him for some reason? Still, he heard the lock click and he slipped inside, and found himself in an antechamber with a coat check and benches lining the walls.

“Put on your gear, boy. Joel’s at the bar, waiting for you.”

The huge man at the window had spoken to him with a grin, and he froze–how did he know about him? He went to speak, but the only thing which crossed his lips was a bark, making the man laugh. “You’re new here, pup, so you’ll find out this bar ain’t like the rest. You are who you are here–and what you are is a dog. Now gear up or get out.”

He’d come this far, and the way the man was speaking to him…he liked it. He stripped out of his clothes quickly, and got into the gear Joel had given him. As soon as he did, he found himself on all fours and unable to stand back up–the man behind the window came out and collected his discarded clothes for him and took the bag behind the counter.

“I’ll hold this for you, if you still need it when you leave. Get goin’ pup–don’t keep your friend waiting.”

He crawled down the hallway and found himself in a narrow bar. It was poorly lit, and he couldn’t see the end of it, where it led into darkness–the darkrooms, he supposed. Joel was there, however, dressed in leather gear. He grinned around the stem of a pipe when he saw the dog crawling up to him, panting and whining a bit in stress–but he settled down after a pat on the head and a taste of Joel’s cock under the bar. Other people came and went and quite a few made comments–a few just laughed at him, but a couple treated him the way he wanted to be–telling him what a handsome pup he was, and offering to give him a belly rub if he did a trick or two. It made him so happy, knowing that people could see him for what he really was. When Joel clipped a lead to his collar and started walking into the back room, he didn’t have any second thoughts about following along beside him, panting and grinning and swinging his tail to and fro as he crawled.

He lost track of how many men he serviced that night–but he no longer could say no to anyone, if Joel told them it was alright to play with his pup. He spent most of the time with dicks in both his mouth and tailholes, and while it hurt, and he didn’t…want to enjoy it, every time Joel told him he was a good boy for doing what he wanted, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling overwhelmed with happiness. He was a good boy. He was making his master happy. Those thoughts were simpler, and stronger, than the human doubts and fears he was having–at least until Joel took him back to the bar early in the morning, and left him there, telling him he’d be there next week if he wanted to play some more.

It crushed him in ways he could barely express. Hadn’t he done well? Hadn’t he been a good boy? Could he have been better? Didn’t Joel want to keep him, take him home? Why had he done this to him, and shown him these feelings, if he didn’t want to take any responsibility for it? He crawled after him, but by the time he’d changed back and could speak, Joel was gone, and he was alone, and the humiliation was crushing him on the sidewalk.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 5)

It was at this point that Fido paused in his story, looked down at my lap, and licked his chops–I mean, his lips, or whatever. I followed his eyes, and was disturbed to see that his rather detailed description of his first time in gear had, for some reason I couldn’t quite explain at this moment, given me a massive erection in the front of my pants. But that…I knew I shouldn’t be turned on by this. Fido had, as the story progressed, gone from a mere curiosity to someone much creepier. Why in the hell was I even still listening to him? I needed to get home, I had work in the morning, but more than anything, I didn’t want to have to listen to the fucker’s strange ravings anymore. And yet, even as I tried to stand up and head for the doors of the train, my body stayed right beside him. He reached out with one hand, stuck in the paw of the suit, and groped my crotch, whining a bit.

“Don’t worry master, I’ll help you out soon, once we get home. Then I’ll be your pup. I’ll be a really good pup, I promise. I can’t wait to be…me again.”

“No–No, fuck you, I don’t know what your fucking shit is, but I’m fucking done with you.”

It took all the will I could muster, but I did, at last, lurch up to standing and squeeze through the people on the train towards the door as we approached the next stop. I didn’t care if Fido was following me or not–I’d get away from him somehow, or at least find some security guard or police officer to get him to stop fucking harassing me. I got out on the platform–one I couldn’t remember ever seeing in my life–where in the world was I even?

“Master! This isn’t our stop!” Fido shouted, but I just headed for the stairway out–I needed some fucking air, I needed to get away from this crazy fuck. As I hurried off, I passed a map of the subway system, and realized I had somehow gotten on the complete wrong train, heading in the opposite direction from my apartment. Instead, I was heading towards the rundown section of town, mostly occupied by small apartments where the lower class workers and laborers tended to live. I should turn around and head for the trains, but that would mean passing Fido…and all I knew was that I needed to get this fuck away from me, but he caught up to me soon enough.

“Sir, I don’t understand, why did you get off?”

“Please, just fucking leave me alone!”

“But I haven’t finished my story yet–I haven’t even gotten to the good parts!”

I turned on him, and screamed in his face, “I don’ wanna hear anymore a yer fuckin’ story, ya fuckin’ mutt!”

Something was wrong again–my voice…that wasn’t how I was supposed to sound, was it? I felt dizzy and a bit lightheaded, and as I turned around, I saw people staring at me–at me, like I was the crazy fuck, and not the fucker beside me in the fucking costume.

“Why’s he yelling at his doggy, mom?” said a little girl passing by, but her mother just shushed her, gave me a wary look, and pulled her along.

“I’m ain’t fuckin’ crazy…he’s the crazy fuck,” I muttered, but Fido just tapped at my hand with his.

“Let me finish the story sir, and everything will make sense, I promise.”

“No, I don’t fucking want to listen to anymore of this crap,” I said, quieter so only Fido could hear, and kept walking, until I passed an advertisement on the subway wall behind plastic–letting me see a translucent reflection of myself, and what I thought I saw–it couldn’t be right. My body…I could remember it not looking quite right before, but now I seemed even more off–my gut even more pronounced, and I seemed to have lost another couple of inches of height…but now, there were new differences. My usually clean shaven face was covered with a thick beard, one that looked like I’d been growing it for years, and my head was completely shaven. Almost worse, my perfectly tailored suit was gone, and replaced by a pair of grungy, hi-viz coveralls, the kind worn by guys in construction. I didn’t even fucking look like me anymore, I looked–and sounded, I realized–like some lower class, uneducated grunt. Then Fido caught up with me, and in the mirror…in the mirror, I didn’t see the man in the suit, no, what I saw was…was a dog. Was my dog, the big fucking mutt, almost to my waist–I turned and looked at him, and he was still standing there in the costume…but what the fuck was wrong with me?

“What the fuckin’ hell is this? What the fuck’s happenin’ tah me? I ain’t supposed tah look like this, ‘n why’s everyone think yer a real fuckin’ dog?”

“Because I am a dog, master–that’s what I’m trying to tell you! See, I thought it was a curse, but Master Joel–he helped me see what I needed to be, and after that first night in Pigtown everything made so much more sense, you see.”

“I don’t wanna listen anymore, I don’t wanna hear any more crazy shit from yer fuckin’ mouth.”

“Come on Master, you’re just cranky because you haven’t smoked your pipe in a while. Let’s go sit down outside, you can smoke a while, and I’ll keep telling you my story–how’s that sound?”

I tried to resist, but he just grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out of the station, parked me on a bench, and as he kept speaking, he helped me light a pipe that had somehow appeared in the breast pocket of my new coveralls. I listened, and felt my cock start to harden again, but once I had a nice buzz going from my pipe, I settled down, and groped my cock as my dog described his first night in Pigtown.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 4)

– Fido’s Story Continued –

He had held out hope that, given time, the ache would go away, or at least diminish in scope. After all, who in their right mind would actually want to be an animal! It wasn’t…normal, or natural. He went to a couple of therapists, but the shame of admitting his fantasies and desires to them always led him to abandon the effort after a session or two. He was terrified that talking about it would simply normalize it for him, but he didn’t want it to be normal, he wanted these thoughts…gone. Instead, they calcified, and hardened, and grew heavier. Nothing seemed to be getting better, and he felt like he was stuck carrying around some awful secret, worse than when he’d still been in the closet, because if he told anyone about this…no, he couldn’t imagine what that might even look like.

He still had sex, on occasion, but every instance now was rife with anxiety. He had a hard time getting erect, and the only time he managed to cum with someone else was jacking off while they fucked him doggy style. Thinking about what it would be like to be owned by them. To be their dog, imaging what kind of dog he might even be. He studied breeds in his spare time, thinking about them all–he couldn’t believe how many varieties there even were! In his perusal, he also discovered pup play, and it quickly became his only porn. He…dreamed of trying it out for himself, one day, but would it even be enough, just pretending? He knew it wouldn’t, so then why bother with it? If anything, it would probably just make his ache worse.

He had less and less sex, as the months wore on, and spent more time at the park, and several other dog parks around town. Should he get a dog himself? No, he’d just be jealous of the mutt, and that wasn’t fair. He went on a few dates with guys he knew who had dogs, just…to be around the entire dynamic of master and pet. He’d get a vicarious thrill, just being there as they walked the dog, or played catch, but even that stopped scratching the itch soon. The dreams grew more intense, and some days he would wake up and just cry for an hour, before being able to face work. Something was going to snap–but he didn’t know what, or when, or how.

It was a relief, in a sense, when Joel surprised him, and sat down on the bench beside him at the park one afternoon. He’d gone through the entire summer now, and as fall and the rains were approaching, fewer and fewer pups were out to watch. He begged Joel to fix him, that he was sorry for what he’d said and done, but he didn’t know how he could live with this, with himself. He’d been thinking of suicide, he lied, but he also thought it might become true soon enough. Joel just listened, and it was only after a few minutes that he noticed the older bear had a wrapped present in his lap, and he stopped speaking. Joel noticed where his attention had gone, and smiled.

“For you,” he said and handed him the package, “Be a good boy, now. Maybe I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Be a good boy.” His cock was rock hard at the words, and he whined, unable to help himself. Joel just chuckled, then stood up and went on his way, whistling, leaving him there on the bench, clutching the gift, hands shaking. He should throw it in the trash. He should throw it in the trash, and then go back to work–he did have to go back to work, didn’t he? Maybe…maybe he didn’t. He went home instead, the package under his arm, and tore into it once he got there, shaking as he pulled the items inside out, one by one. A collar. A buttplug with a dog tail. Mitts for his hands. Knee pads. A pup mask. A collar. He laid them all out, gently, on the floor, like they were deadly weapons, and just stared at them for a long while. Throw them away, he told himself. You can’t give into this, it’s not right. It’s not normal to want any of this.

Two hours later, he was on his hands and knees in front of the mirror, staring at himself in the gear, cock rock hard and leaking cum. Closer–he felt so much closer like this. He’d imagined it would feel like a complete disappointment–but instead he felt so…happy, he couldn’t stop himself from giving a loud bark, rolling over, and jacking his cock with both paws until he shot all over his belly like a good boy, a very good boy indeed. Then came the shame, and he stripped out of the stuff as quickly as he could, and got right in the shower, shaking in anger at himself for giving in like that. He’d throw it all away, that was the only option. He got the box, intending to load it all back in there and throw it right out, when he noticed an envelope in the bottom he hadn’t seen before. He opened it, and read the short note inside.

You can find me at Pigtown, Saturdays and Sundays. Be yourself, pup, and let’s have some fun together.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 3)

So yeah, the story is fucking crazy, like I’d expected. Wizards? Curses? Wanting to be a fucking dog? Well, I believe that last part, given the suit he’s wearing. I keep trying to interject and get out of here–I do have a train to catch, after all, and a conference call to make, but the guy talks so fast, and with such energy–it’s like he desperate to keep me from getting a word in at all…so I end up just listening. I don’t notice the sun setting outside, the street getting dark, until another voice pipes up beside us.

“Sir? Sir!”

The dogman I’m with actually stops talking for a second, and I blink a couple of times, then look over. There’s a woman in a fast food uniform looking down at us–well, down at me really, scowling a bit. The badge on her shirt has the name Courtney, with the title Assistant Manager.

“Yeah? What is it? You don’t have to yell.”

“Sir, you can’t have animals in here. It’s against the law.”

I just stare at her for a second, then look over at the other guy, then back at her.

“Look, I know he’s a bit of a freak, but that’s fucking mean.”

“Is it a service animal?”

“No, it’s a fucking person, ya cunt!”

The anger in my voice surprises even me–especially when I stand up, ready to get in her face over some homeless guy’s dignity, and she backs up a step.

“I will call the police sir, if you don’t leave the premises right now.”

“It’s ok, let’s just go, sir. I can tell you the rest on the way home!”

The man in the suit is still grinning through all of this–if anything, he looks even happier.

“Fine, let’s go then.”

He gets out of the booth, and I notice that there seems to be…a lot more trash on the table than there should be–at least three or four hamburger wrappers, and two bags which might have contained fries at one point, which were now empty. But I swear I’d just had a salad–a salad I don’t even remember eating, but whatever. We leave the joint, I look down at my watch, and curse under my breath–it’s quarter to eight–there’s no way I can make that call now, and I can’t do it on my cell phone. I need to get going, and quick–maybe I can hail a cab?

“So where are we going now?”

“We aren’t going anywhere–I have to go home.”

“But I’m not done with the story yet! We’re getting to a really good part. I know you want to hear the rest, right?”

He sounds…almost desperate, in a really strange way, and lets loose a whine that actually is a pretty good imitation of a dog–but even if I am curious, I don’t have time.

“Look Fido–”

“Is that my name? You gave me a name!”

He’s jumping around like a fucking idiot again, and I have to actually grab him, and settle him down, before someone starts staring at us.

“Calm the fuck down!”

“I just get really excited when I hear my name, is all! But the story! Let me tell you the rest of the story–you have to hear it all now! You gave me a name!”

I scan the road for a cab, but there’s none in sight; a cab wouldn’t even get me home in time for the call anyway. I get out my phone and send a text, feigning an emergency and asking a partner to handle it for me.

“Fine, Fido, but I have to catch the next train so I can get home. You’ll have to walk and talk.”

“Ok! I like walks, walks are awesome!”

So off we went, and Fido figures out where he left off in his tale, but I’m having a hard time focusing on him, as we walk–mostly because I feel a bit…sick. Bloated even. I rub my stomach, and it definitely doesn’t feel right–kind of swollen, and even a bit soft, like…like a gut.

I stop walking and look down at myself, and sure enough, where there had been gym toned abs not hours before, I now had a sizable paunch–enough that it has untucked my shirt, and I could see my undershirt peeking through the gaps between the buttons. The rest of my outfit is tight too–my suit coat isn’t sitting right on my shoulders, like they are wider all of a sudden, my tie is too tight, even my shoes are hurting my toes, which feel like their curled up against the end of the shoe. I walk over to a shop window and look at my reflection, and I start to freak out even more. I have at least six or seven days of stubble all over my face–and my face looks as chubby as my gut. It’s no wonder my tie is too tight, with how much my neck has grown, and my usually well groomed hair is too long and shaggy–greasy even.

“You’re not listening to the story, sir.”

Fido is beside me, looking a bit concerned.

“But–I didn’t look like this before. What happened to my body?”

I don’t know why I’m asking him, exactly, it’s not like Fido would have an answer, right? But he gets close to me, and looks me in the eyes, and it’s really intense, his stare.

“Just relax, sir. You already started listening to my story, and once I get to the end, everything is going to make complete sense. You have to trust me, though. You do trust your doggy, right? I’m the best doggy in the world, after all.”

“The best…doggy in the world…”

“And I’m your doggy. I’m Fido.”

“Mine…Fido.”

He lets me go, and I realize I blanked out for a second, but I do feel a bit better. Fido…really is a good dog, you know? Still, I–we–have a train to catch, so we keep going. I do my best to ignore my uncomfortable clothing, and focus on listening to what Fido has to say, as he continues his tale, and by the time we’re sitting in the train, my attention is with him completely, as he tells me what happened when Master Joel found him one afternoon in that park, a few months later.

This may be a tmi question, but do you get horny while you’re writing erotica? I’ve recently tried writing while horny, and I was surprised about how much it got me off! And if not horny, how do you feel while writing?

Yeah, writing gets me very horny, generally. I do my best to avoid shooting as long as I can, so after a day of writing three or sometimes four thousand words, I’m generally aching and antsy after edging myself for that long. However, if I do shoot, I usually don’t feel like writing much after the fact. I have, on occasion, thought about investing in a chastity device for while I’m writing (as well as whenever else it might come in handy) but haven’t felt the need to yet.

Leaving aside the kink stuff for a bit, what genres do you like to read for pleasure?

Sci-Fi, generally. I enjoyed Ann Leckie’s Ancillary trilogy and the Remembrance of Earth’s Past Trilogy by Liu Cixin most recently, but honestly, most of what I read is smut of one sort or another. I really enjoy more literary erotica, like the stories of Dennis Cooper, and the really intense stories of Samuel Delaney like “Hogg”. 

A Dog’s Tale (Part 2)

Some time earlier…

It had been ten or so years ago, when it had started. He’d been younger then, a corporate climber, always working, fighting for raises and promotions. He’d thought that life was about status, and looks, and money. His one vice, had been men–and he’d resented it. It was the one thing about him which…was abnormal. Which cut him off from the rest of his cohort, and while most places were fairly progressive, being gay was still a liability he couldn’t afford. He kept it a secret as best he could, especially at the business where he was at the time, whose management board was quite a bit more conservative than others. He’d go out on the weekends to bars on the other side of the city, or purchase a few hours with discrete call boys if he needed to stay home and work. For a long time, it was enough, even if he knew it wasn’t satisfying.

That was the most frustrating part, in fact–the lack of satisfaction. As wealthy as he was, as important as he was, he still wasn’t happy. It never seemed to be enough. Wealth and prestige only seemed to create stress, rather than relieve it. It made him a bit cruel, and it made him drink, and so, when an older fellow had come onto him at a bar one weekend, those two traits combined into a perfect storm, and he ended up publicly berating the fellow. What he didn’t know, however, was that he couldn’t have chosen a worse target–the man he was shouting at was a wizard, and one with a particular talent for curses.

He had expected the man to slink away from him, but instead Joel, as he introduced himself, took a seat beside him at the bar, and the two of them carried on a sizable conversation–of which he recalled very little. It was so long, in fact, that the bar was closing, and he hadn’t found anyone to take home with him. He was horny enough that he would have even settled for Joel, even though the older, portly fellow was hardly his type, especially with the pipe he had spent the entire evening smoking, but Joel shot down his suggestion, told him goodnight, and left him to call a cab and go home alone.

He had the first dream that night, and it remains one of the most intense he’s ever had. He’s certain that it lasted all night, from the moment that he laid his head down on the pillow, to the point when he finally woke, mid orgasm in the midmorning sun, his sheets soaked with sweat and cum. In the dream, at first, he was a man. He was himself, but he was behaving…like a dog. Joel was there, and Joel was his Master. He knew, in his mind, that he should feel utterly humiliated, but with each passing moment, he just felt…happy. Content. He felt satisfied, in a way that he’d never really been before, and it just made him…ecstatic. They went for walks, and even though the people they passed by stared at him in disgust, he didn’t feel humiliated–they just didn’t understand, is all. This is what he needed. This is what he’d been looking for this entire time, and he’d never even known it.

In that single dream, he lived with Joel for what seemed like weeks, or maybe even months. He lost count of how many times he pleasured his master, and his master pleasured him. He was losing his grip on himself, he was certain that his entire life as a person must have been a false memory, just a mistake. He found himself changing, his hands becoming paws, hair sprouting and covering his body, his mouth and face pushing out into a proper muzzle. He was finally becoming himself. He was becoming everything he needed to be. By the end of the dream, he was just a dog–a rather perverse dog, of course, who took great delight in licking his master’s cock, and begging for him to plow his doggy hole–but certainly not a man any more. And he was happy, so happy, he was certain he’d never need anything else again in his life. And then, just as he lost the final bits of his humanity, just as he convinced himself that his prior life as a man must have been a fabrication, that he could remain here, happy, for the rest of his life–that’s when he woke up.

He sobbed for the rest of the day, uncontrollably. What had he been doing with his life, up to this point? How could he have been such a fool? He didn’t want money, or status, or a good job with a corner office. He wanted to be a dog! It was so simple, and yet he’d missed it entirely. Worse, he’d been so close in his dream, and yet he knew that this desire was unattainable for him. He couldn’t be a dog. He couldn’t just…change like that. Even pretending to be a dog wouldn’t be enough, he could already tell. The depression was crippling, and he needed to take a few days off of work–the first sick days he’d ever taken in his entire life. But what did it matter? Rich or poor, his life, from this point on, would remain unfulfilled, no matter what he did.

The dreams returned each night, never quite as intense, but they didn’t have to be. The sharpness of the feelings over the first couple of days eased off, and he was able to return to work, but everyone could see that something was different about him. The fire was gone, the ambition. He would take these long lunches, some days, and no one would know where he went for them–but every time, he was sitting in a park a few blocks away, watching the masters and their pups play, and run, and bark…and wishing he could join them, but knowing he never would.

My apologies if you’ve answered this in the past. Do you ever run your ideas off of anyone else before writing or posting a story? Or do you just write and post without getting a third parties feedback?

Everything I post is either a commission, which means it necessarily gets run through a third party, or it’s an original idea of my own which I usually don’t share with anyone until I post it for everyone to read. People who give at a certain level through Patreon get access to my drafts, which means they can read and potentially comment on stories as I work on them, but few do.