Pup Parolee (Caption)

I can tell you this at least, being a parole officer comes with some decent perks. It’s a whole lot easier, for one thing, sitting in an office and just trying to keep guys from going back to prison again–although that can be a challenge in its own way. See, prison is easy, in a lot of ways. You don’t have many choices in prison, and so, when you get out, it can be…paralyzing, for some guys, to try and figure out what to do with yourself. It can leave some of them in a particularly fragile state–and I’m proud to say that my parolees have one of the lowest rates of recidivism in the district. You might say that I know how to give a guy…purpose.

Sure, they can come in here, acting tough, looking like they know how the world works, but I can see what makes them tick, what they’re afraid of. Some of them just need a kind word, and a good push in the right direction, to grow up and be decent people this time around. Others, well, they didn’t end up in prison usually because of something they did. They ended up in prison because they were too weak to say no, or think for themselves, or because they were scared. Those ones are harder, guys like Garrett here–or Spike, as he likes me to call him.

I knew he was going to end up back in prison if I didn’t do something, you see. He was too weak, to easily swayed by the people around him, and the people he was around, they didn’t want what was best for him, not like me. Fuck, one visit to my office, and I barely had to do much more than talk gently to him, and he was out, doing everything I told him to do, just because I could make him feel good. Well, no one has to worry about Spike now, I make sure he won’t be getting into anymore trouble, and he much prefers being my dog, to being a person–you could ask him yourself, if he could talk much anymore.

But being human is behind him. No, he spends his days naked in my house, napping, playing with his toys, waiting by the door for me to come home so we can play together–so I can fuck him, really, because he knows he’s not the alpha in this little pack. No–he’s lucky all the same though, to have a master like me, holding the leash. If he was free, who knows what trouble he’d get himself into?

Police Dogs – Episode 2 (Finale)

Sorry for the missed posts over the last couple of days–work has been crazy busy with the holiday coming up. Here’s the last three chunks of Police Dogs to make up for it! 

Demon dove for the paws, licking at them with his tongue, and deep inside him, something…was screaming and howling with rage, and with fear. Demon…knew who it was, it was the man he’d been, but the anger was already turning to terror, as Chance realized he was being trapped within his own mind, and that the small bits of him that still remained outside of Master Geoff’s control were shrinking smaller and smaller, as he shrunk, and as more and more of his body twisted and warped into the pup Geoff’s collar was turning him into. His tongue…it was so long, and the smells and tastes of Master’s paw were so intense, unlike anything he had ever experienced before in his life. HIs tail was wagging faster now, pounding along with his heart in excitement, and eagerness. He could hear his nails scratching on the floor under him, now more like claws than nails really, his fingers shortening and thickening, losing some of their dexterity as he lost his humanity. But worse, was how excited he was, how excited he couldn’t help being, and he flung himself into worshiping Master’s paws, at least, until Master gave him a kick in the snout, and sent him onto his back, four paws in the air in surprise. Before he could roll over, Master shoved his paw down onto Demon’s head, covering all of his face with the rough pad on the bottom, the scent even more intense, and the sensation of powerlessness…he was nothing. He was nothing, next to his master, he was worthless. He was just a stupid, naughty pup, tiny and insignificant, unable to do anything, unable to disobey, unable to think a single thought that Master hadn’t put into Demon’s tiny head himself. Chance felt his mental confines shrink further, and he screamed again, but to Demon, they seemed…so much further away now. That was good–it had been hard to focus on what was important–cleaning Master’s dirty paws.

Geoff bent down, watching the little pup squirm under his weight, and while he hadn’t thought about shrinking him further than this, a couple of feet tall…he couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like. This was the smallest he’d ever made a pup, really, but there was no reason the collar couldn’t shrink someone smaller…and in fact, there was something he had always wanted to try, and this might be the best opportunity to test it out. He grabbed hold of the collar, and kept pulling, steadily shrinking Demon further still, taking inches off his now measly height, until he was just around a foot and a half tall, not too much larger than the badger’s paw, in all honesty. He felt so fragile, under him, and Geoff supposed he could crush the life out of him, if he so wanted, but he had other pleasures in mind for this one. He pulled his paw away, pleased with the empty look in the pup’s eyes. He was in the final stages of his changes now–his old self was locked away, deep in his mind, where it would starve, slowly. The process took a while, but now, there was no real way of saving him–as far as Geoff was concerned, Chance was gone–all that remained, was Demon, his warped, perverted little pet.

Geoff looked around, and saw that Dingo had wandered off in the midst of this–a peek around the corner, and he was the massive lug right where he expected him to be, looming over the table, and the unfinished box of doughnuts, stuffing them in his maw as quickly as he could. The bigger they got, after all, the hungrier they became, and Dingo was one of the largest he had made–so tall, Dingo had probably knocked his head on the doorframe getting out of the hall. “Dingo!” he said, “Pick up Demon here, and let’s go upstairs–I think I have the perfect punishment in mind for the naughty pup.”

Dingo looked up, knowing he had been caught red handed, or powder sugar handed, perhaps, but his master didn’t seem mad at him for it. Still, he rushed to obey him, while the badger started pulling off his uniform and heading for the stairs, Dingo grabbed Demon by the tail and picked him up. He was…so light, and the pup squirmed in the air, obviously unhappy at being manhandled like this, and Dingo just laughed, and swung him about gently in the air.

“Dingo! Quit playing with your toy, and get up here!”

“Sorry sir!” Dingo said, and hurried for the stairs, clipping his forehead on a doorway as he went, dropping Demon as he did. The pup tried to scurry away, but Dingo grabbed him by the tail again before he could get away, and carrying him upstairs after the badger, and into the bedroom, where Geoff was standing next to the bed. “Get out of that uniform, Dingo–I think it’s time you got a reward.”

Dingo grinned, and set Demon down on the floor. Before he could get his bearings, he found himself pinned under the badger’s paw once again, and all thoughts of escape slipped away from him again, and he focused on sniffing and licking his master’s paws while the larger Dingo struggled to extract himself from the too tight uniform he was now wearing. He managed, eventually, but not without losing a few buttons, and then Geoff directed him to lay down on the bed. He was so large, that even with his head leaning up against the headboard, his paws hung off the end, and his cock, while small compared to his frame, was still a sizable seven inches.

“Alright, Demon–are you ready? You’re going to get one last fuck on your husband’s cock–and we’re going to shrink you until you’re too small to even stay on it. Hear that? You’re going to be so small, you won’t even be useful for sex–all you’ll be able to do is clean our paws, lick out our cracks, and watch me fuck your husband’s ass into submission every night. That’s what happens to naughty pups who don’t do what they’re told–I turn them into my toys.”

Demon was squirming under Geoff’s paw, but whether he was even paying attention to him, the badger didn’t know. That was the problem with these collars, especially when you make someone small–the room left for their brains gets a bit…cramped. He bent down and picked him up, carrying him under the arms and onto the bed, before handing him to Dingo. “Here you go boy–why don’t you give Demon a good last fuck? I want it to be a fuck he’ll remember, so don’t hold back, got it?”

Dingo nodded, took Demon from Geoff’s paws, and held him there, looking at him squirm, trying to free himself, lost somewhere between fear, obedience, and a disappearing past and identity he could no longer really recall. It was…easier, seeing him like this, Dingo thought. It had been harder before, when he was human, when Angus had been so loud, trying to make him stop, trying to get control back, but now that he was looking at this little pup–a pint sized german shepherd, panting, his own cock hard as he squirmed in the air, not quite sure what was about to happen to him, he just felt…sorry for him, a bit, and he didn’t want to hurt him. “Aren’t I…too big?”

“Don’t worry about that, Dingo–he’ll be flexible. Besides, you shouldn’t care about something like that–you like being a brute, don’t you? You kind of like the idea of hurting that pup a bit. After all, hasn’t he been so naughty today?”

Dingo nodded, and he realized that some of that caring, that worry, wasn’t really his–it had leeched in while he wasn’t paying attention, but Master was right. He was a mean, rough, feral mutt, to everyone other than his master, and thinking about fucking this little pup on his big cock…he started leaking just thinking about it, leaking enough that he could drop the pup on the head of his cock, and it was slick enough to work its way inside, the pup barking and howling in surprise and a bit of pain as the massive cock forced its way inside him.

It was as large as his own arm, easily, and the pup was torn between terror, and a raging horniness that was threatening to wipe away everything else. His head just felt so small and tight all of a sudden, and it couldn’t hold everything in it that had been in it before. Whatever was most present, and most immediate, was being saved–everything else, if he didn’t focus on it, was slipping away, never to be seen again. Dingo shoved him down a little further, forcing the pup’s tailhole to open further, and Geoff bent over and whispered in Demon’s ear, telling how good it felt to be fucked, how much he loved having a massive cock in his hole–he was so naughty, he wanted cock in him all the time, and that’s why he was being punished. He’d been a bad dog, and so, he was going to have to be so small, he’d never be able to get fucked again.

Dingo kept thrusting up, working most of his cock into the pup’s tight hole, and then Geoff took hold of the end of Demon’s collar, and pulled it tighter. His body constricted again, tightening around Dingo’s cock, stretching his hole even more, and he howled, Dingo having to keep a tight hold, to keep his cock from slipping from the pup’s hole. For his part, a desperate Demon was trying hard to keep the cock in his guts–he loved getting fucked, and knowing that this was going to be his last fuck ever…he was going to have to make it last as long as possible, no matter how small he got.

Geoff watched the little german shepherd constrict around the dingo’s cock, and his own cock got even harder. He got up and straddled Dingo’s massive frame, so his own cock was in front of Demon, took hold of his tiny frame, and started fucking him up and down on Dingo’s cock, watching the little pup go slack, just enjoying the sensation of the massive cock rearranging his guts, his face and gut grinding against his master’s cock in the process, absolutely helpless, and yet, more content than he’d ever felt in his life, because there was nothing he could do. He was helpless–they could do whatever they wanted to him, and there was nothing he could do to stop them, they had absolute power, and that meant he had to be their…their slave, or even lower than that, their pet, their toy.  He was nothing, and with another tug on the collar, he shrank again, less than a foot tall, his body no longer able to take all of Dingo’s cock–but the massive dog had reached his limit anyway. His cock exploded inside of Demon’s body, and like a bottle rocket, and because Geoff was only holding onto him by the collar–as he flew, it pulled tighter and tighter around his neck, tighter than Geoff had ever intended, shrinking him less than a foot, less than six inches, until he was just three or four, dangling by the end of the collar, choking until Geoff laid the tiny pup on the bed, where he could catch his breath in the pool of cum still leaking out of his hole.

Dingo just kept panting on the bed, oblivious to what had happened, while Geoff loomed over him, surprised that the little pup was still alive. He picked Demon up by the tail and looked at him, Demon staring at the massive badger’s face looming right in front of him. “Hmm…well, that’s a bit smaller than I was expecting.”

Still, there was nothing to be done–but at least he could secure the collar and lock it in place. If it shrank anymore, Demon might just cease to exist. It took some work, manipulating the little tail of the shrunk collar soit slid into the loop, but he managed it, and sealed the length for good–for better or worse, Demon was a pup the size of a mouse…now what in the hell was he going to do with him? Geoff sighed–he’d figure something out, he supposed. He dropped Demon back on the bed, and told Dingo to get up from the bed–that it was time to leave. The two of them got dressed, Dingo struggling with his ill-fitting uniform again, but with Geoff’s help, he got situated enough that he was presentable, and then Geoff dropped the still stunned Demon in the pocket of his shirt, and they left the house, never to return.

No one ever really figured out what happened to the nice couple, Angus and Chance, who had lived there. Some people said there was a kidnapping, others said they had moved, some suggested a long vacation, but no one remembered them for long. The bank eventually foreclosed on the house, and resold it to someone else–but by then, their memory had long since disappeared from reality, for everyone besides Geoff. Geoff remembered everything, and he was having a grand time with his Dingo.

In the past months, nearly a year, Dingo had kept packing on weight at a steady clip. On his tall frame though, even four hundred pounds seemed normal–mostly. Geoff kept feeding him though–he wanted his brutish mutt to be his largest pup yet, telling him, while he fucked his fat ass, that he was going to keep stuffing him until he was too fat to even get out of bed. Dingo liked that, and he gave another shudder, shooting another load of cum into the milker attached to his cock, draining his cum into a small tank by the side of the bed. After a few more minutes, Geoff came deep, and pulled out–the two of them laid on the bed for a while, Geoff resting his head on Dingo’s large gut until he got tired, swung himself out of bed, and unhooked the tank. He had another pet to keep fed after all–and after that massive fucking had twisted up the little pup’s guts, the only thing the tiny pup could eat anymore was cum–specifically Dingo’s. He loved the stuff, and the more he drank, the fatter he got as well–though he always seemed to shrink back down from a sphere after a day or two. Still, watching the little german shepherd gorge himself on his one-time husband’s cum never ceased to thrill Geoff, and watching the little pup fight for it was getting hard again–hard enough for a second go at Dingo’s hole in the meantime, before their night shift started. They were patrolling the highway, and Geoff had started hankering for another police dog to play with in the worst way.

Police Dogs – Episode 2 (Part 8)

“What do you want, pup?”

What…did he want? He knew what he had wanted, before. To…escape, to find a way to get Angus back, but he was so tired, so tired of fighting. It would be so much easier if he just gave in, gave in and was a good boy, a good pup, the…the dirty little pup Master wanted him to be. But is that what he wanted too? He didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know if he should even…want things himself. What did Master want? He knew what Master wanted, though, and…and he could feel himself wanting it too, more and more. “I…I wanna sniff your holes, and Dingo’s, and lick your boots and your paws, sir, I…I wanna be your…your dirty pup.”

“Really? Because a little while ago, you didn’t seem to want that at all. I don’t know if I really believe you, pup.”

That…seemed so long ago now, somehow, even though Chance knew it had been less than an hour. It was another lifetime, another person altogether, maybe. “I know I said that, but I…I was wrong, I want to be a good boy, I want to be your dirty pup master.”

“My dirty, little pup, you mean,” Geoff said, took the end of Chance’s collar and tightened it another notch, and Chance felt his stomach twist, he shrank again. He tried to pull away again, but Geoff kept his grip on the collar, and he could feel it tightening again, and almost to another notch, and he froze.

“Please, I don’t want to be smaller, please sir, I’m sorry…”

“No? You don’t want to be a little pup? So small I could pin you to the ground with my paw, feel you squirming between my toes?” Geoff tugged lightly, and another notch slipped, and Chance reduced again, now only about four feet tall, and he could feel the badger tugging the collar tightening, and he whimpered again. “Get on your knees.”

Chance hadn’t realized he was standing, and when he got down, the disparity in size was even more apparent, and he realized, also…very hot, seeing his Master looming over him like this. Geoff put one huge boot on his thigh, and that was enough to make his dog cock slip free of his sheath again, and start to leak.

“Looks like someone is excited by the idea of being this small. Such a naughty little doggy. You know, a naughty pup like you needs a naughty name, don’t you think? How about…Demon? A little devil like you.”

When Geoff said the name, Chance felt it searing itself into his mind, somehow, warping his own image of himself. The human in him slipped even further away, fading, and he could…see himself, a different version of himself. A small, chubby dog, tongue lolling out, only a couple feet tall, waddling after his Master, wondering when he’d get the chance to taste his paws again, or his boots, or his cock, if he was a very good boy. And Demon…Demon could be naughty yes, but he wanted to be good, so good, and he knew he could, he could be so good if he just…just did as Master wanted. The collar tightened again, slipping closed another notch, and he shrank a few more inches, watching his Master rise up over him even further as he shrank down, and…and he let out a whine, his cock springing up and leaking a bit at the sight.

“You do like it, don’t you boy? I want to hear you say it.”

Demon shook his head, trying to deny it, but the badger tightened it again, the sudden vertigo in his gut telling him he was shrinking even further.

“I know you like it, pup,” Geoff said, “but what really matters anyway is that I like it. I like the idea of you being a sniveling little pup, too small to be good for anything really, small enough that I could crush you under me feet–but I think that you do want it, don’t you boy? Doesn’t the idea of being small enough that I can pick you up by the scruff of your fat neck, or by your fuzzy tail, carry you around, do whatever I want to you–doesn’t that just excite the hell out of you?”

Demon heard something thumping behind him, but it wasn’t until Geoff stopped talking that he realized it was the sound of his tail wagging, and thumping against the floor behind him.

“Naughty pups like you might lie to me, but your tails always tell the truth, pup. You want to be small. You deserve to be small, for being so naughty, you deserve to be punished, don’t you?”

He tugged again, slipping the collar down another notch, and this time, Demon couldn’t resist it anymore. “Yes sir, I do…I deserve to be a tiny pup sir, I love it, I…”

“Unlace my boots, Demon,” Geoff said, sneering down at him.

He did so, and pulled the boot off, and the sock. He could smell the badger’s paw from where he was, and he felt drool pouring out of his snout, his cock even harder, if that was possible.

“You want Master’s paw, boy?”

“Yes sir, please let me lick your dirty paws.”

“What’s your name pup? Tell me your name, and I’ll let you taste them.”

He whined again. He knew the right answer of course, but it was also the most dangerous answer. It wasn’t the answer it should be…but it was the answer he wanted, all the same. “Demon. I’m your dirty little pup, Demon, your naughty pup, please sir! Please can I taste them?”

“Alright, go ahead pup, you’ve been good enough.”

The Mailman’s Pup (Flash Commission)

The mailman would be here any second, and Carson couldn’t swallow the pit of dread in his stomach, the same one that was there every day now, ever since he’d received that first letter in the mail. Carson worked remotely, managing customer service for a few tech companies out of his small house, and one day, his mailman had delivered a fragile package all busted up. He’d been furious, and demanded the man’s name to report him…but when the mailman had handed him something on a sheet of paper…something else had happened instead. He’d let the mailman in, blown him, and then the man had left–all without him ever learning his name.

Now the mailman came to the door everyday, and each day he’d make Carson service him, calling him his special little pup, and he’d give him a new letter each day. He never knew what the letters said, or how they did what they did, but they would…compel him to do new, humiliating acts the next day, either to himself, or to the mailman.

He heard the gate open, and he opened the door for him–and he saw the mailman had a package with him. A sizable one. “Don’t worry pup–I’ve been extra careful with this new toy of yours–got here safe and sound.”

Carson had no idea what could be in the odd, flat box–likely he had ordered something online, as ordered by the mailman’s letters, and then forgotten about it entirely. Usually he could recall what the man had written, mostly, but other times, the man liked to surprise him. He stood back, and the mailman pushed his way inside–he was short and fat, and reeked of BO–but while that had bothered Carson at first, now it just aroused him more than anything, and he could already feel the need to service the dirty man’s feet and pits beginning to overwhelm him.

“Well come on then, open it up–I’m eager to take it for a ride,” the mailman said.

Carson found some scissors and opened the package up–and as soon as it was open, he could remember ordering it–and what it was. A rim chair. He’d…he’d ordered one, because he needed to worship his mailman’s ass–after all, a pup like him loved liking and smelling dirty holes, right?

Carson wasted no time getting the chair out of the packaging, the mailman behind him ridiculing him, telling him what a dirty pup he is, ordering a thing like this, telling him he hasn’t wiped his ass all day, reminding Carson what a perverse, horny little pup he truly is. When it was finished, the mailman got out of his shorts, and boots, but left on his socks, and sat down. “First things first pup–I’ve been on my feet all day. You know what to do.”

That had been one the early letters–making Carson obsessed with the mailman’s feet. He shoved his face into them, snorting in the man’s reeking scent, feeling his cock harden as he did–but he didn’t touch it. He couldn’t touch it in his presence, but when the mailman was gone, Carson masturbated all the time, thinking about the mailman, about what he made him do, and…and how much he enjoyed doing it all. He tugged the socks off with his teeth and got to work on the man’s feet properly, and when he was satisfied they were clean, he ordered Carson under the rim chair, and told him to get to work.

It stank, and the mailman hadn’t been kidding when he said he hadn’t wiped. He was torn between his disgust, and his desperate desire for the man’s hole–the former fading away until only Carson’s puppy lust remained, moaning as he licked at the mailman’s ring, cleaning it, working his tongue inside of it, listening to the man moan over him. He…he was doing a good job. He was being a good pup–good pups didn’t bark and yell at a mailman, they did whatever a mailman told them to do, like good boys, and Carson wanted to be a good boy more than anything.

The mailman put one foot on Carson’s chest, and the other started working the pup’s cock. “Come on you dirty pup–you’re going to cum with your dick under my foot, like a little bitch–I want to see you do it–tongue up my ass, under my feet–you’re really my bitch now, and I still have so many letters for you to read–just you wait.”

Carson tried to hold off on his orgasm, just to spite him–it was one of the few bits of control he still had. The man liked seeing him struggle though, and won in the end–Carson sprayed the underside of the man’s foot, and his own belly, with a load of cum, and he used his feet to rub it into Carson’s skin until it turned tacky.

“Alright, enough of this–get out, hands and knees–I gotta get back to my route.”

Carson wormed his way back out from under the chair, got up, and the mailman fucked him–he had a surprisingly large cock, and while Carson had hated getting fucked by him at first…now, it was really the easiest part of the entire ordeal. The mailman finished quickly, and then got his shorts and boots back on–before handing Carson the next letter, and leaving for his truck.

He tried not to open it, he fought as hard as he could, but he tore into the envelope, and pulled out the letter, and read it. Like before, he couldn’t ever remember what was written on it exactly, and when he came back to himself a half an hour later, he always found the letter burned on the stove–but the contents were sealed in his mind.

Master wanted him to be a dirtier pup–much dirtier. No more showers–and no more using the bathroom at all, in fact. From now on, he was going to do his business out back in the yard–naked of course, and always on all fours, like a proper mutt. He managed to hold it until later in the evening, so his neighbors were less likely to see him, and he crawled out of the house, over to a tree, lifted a leg and peed on it–feeling a bit proud of himself at how good he’d done on his first try, and then humped up to shit as well. He smelled it, and thought of his Master’s hole again…and even though he knew it was wrong, he was already looking forward to servicing him the next day, and the day after that–and then all day on Sunday. Sundays were his…favorite. After all, there was no mail to deliver on Sunday, which meant Master could spend all day with his pup…training him. Carson had a feeling he’d be under the rim chair a lot this Sunday–and hoped cleaning the mailman’s hole was all he’d be doing.

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 6)

Benji had a great time on the walk–smelling, peeing, looking for squirrels. Everything felt normal. Everything felt right, for the moment. The doubts were beginning to recede, and Benji could tell that they would be gone before too much longer. They walked for about half an hour, and were coming back around to the cul-de-sac where they lived, and where some of Marv’s neighbors were finally up. Benji was excited to meet some new people, and he dragged Marv over to a young man getting the mail, and Master seemed a bit…aggravated at being made to interact with them, but they liked Benji, and that’s all he really cared about. They kept walking, and were almost back to the house, when he smelled someone, whipped his head around, and looked back at a house across the way.

He smelled someone.

Someone…someone he knew, someone he knew well. The doubts welled back up, suddenly, and while Marv was focused on unlatching the gate, Benji took off, yanking the leash from his grip and sprinting after the smell. He couldn’t see the person until he got closer, but it was a woman heading down to get the newspaper–and he…he knew her. He knew her because…because he was married to her!

With that. Ben felt himself, his real self, come roaring back, and leapt onto her, knocking her down, licking her face while she screamed, and he barked at her, tried to tell her, tried to focus on himself, tried to remember what he’d looked like…but it was so hard! She shoved him off him and tried to run for the door of the house, and before he could follow her, Marv had come sprinting after him, caught his leash, and yanked him back hard enough to make him yelp.

She screamed at him, and Marv apologized profusely while Ben kept barking his head off, thinking about her, about his life with her, and he could…feel it happening, could feel his old body pushing out, but it wasn’t fast enough. Marv dragged him back to the gate, and the woman, shaken, went back inside the house, and then he was back in the yard, back with Marv–and back with that damn doghouse.

Still, it was coming faster now, he could feel hands starting to form from his paws, he could feel the hair pulling back in, his human senses returning. Marv was growling and shouting at him, dragging him across the yard to the doghouse by the leash while Ben fought and crawled back away from it, but to no avail.

“Well I’ll give you credit, boy–you got spunk!” Marv said, grabbing Ben and planting him in front of the doghouse, his nose close to the old wood, smelling the stink of it. “Plenty ‘o spunk. Well don’t worry–we’ll break you of that right quick in another couple of days–figured it was too early to have you out and about.”

“You fucking bastard!” Ben managed to cry through a misshapened mouth, “She’ll know, she’ll remember me! She…she has to!”

“Benji–you’re already gone from that world, trust me. There’s no trace of you anywhere. She wouldn’t recognize you even if you got to her–you’re mine now, you’re my pup, and this is going to be so much easier for you if you just relax and accept that, trust me.”

“I’m not going to be your fucking dog, you fucker, you can’t fucking do this to me!” Ben shouted, but the words were already losing substance. He was losing, he could feel his body shifting back, losing track of his humanity, losing track of himself.

“Now now, you aren’t going to be my dog all the time, boy. I’ll let you be human on occasion, when I have some friends around who like playing with a pupslave–but as far as you’ll know, soon enough, you’ll have always been a dog. Yeah–you’ll think you’re a dog who can turn into a human! How about that? Now, though, I think you need the alpha of the pack to remind you who the fuck’s in charge around here, boy.”

Marv undid the front of his jeans, hauled out his cock, and shoved his cock into Ben’s hole, making him howl and try and claw himself away, but…but he wanted this, didn’t he? He loved playing with Master–loved pleasing Master. He could feel his own cock start throbbing underneath him, in the grass, and after a couple of minutes he stopped struggling and let Master have his way with him. He’d…he’d been a bad dog, running off like that, he realized. The funny thing was…he couldn’t even remember why he’d done that. There’d been…been a smell, or something, but the only smell that mattered was his house. Well, that and his Master, but they were the same smell, really. It was the smell of where he belonged. By the time Marv came, Ben had faded away again, and Benji was in control, and he felt…terrible about disobeying his master like that, for letting the doubts take control of him like that. When Master told him he’d have to spend a few days staked out here, with his doghouse, he…he knew it was the best thing to do, but the doubts swirled up again, but before they could do anything, the stake was driven into the earth, and the chain was set up, connected to his collar, and there was nowhere he could go.

The doubts came back a few times, but never as strong as that first time. Benji could keep them away–all he needed to do was take a nice nap in his doghouse, and when he woke up, the doubts were further and further away, until at last…they weren’t there at all. He was just Benji, just his Master’s dog, and that was all he ever wanted to be.

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 4)

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, boy?”

His heart froze, and he looked over his shoulder at Marv, who had returned to the patio carrying…a metal dog bowl.

“What the fuck did I say? I told you to sit, and stay, isn’t that right?”

The shame that welled up in Ben’s was as inexplicable as it was powerful, but he had to get out, he had to get help. He kept batting at the latch, close to getting it open, so close.

“Stop that, and come here.”

Ben’s body froze. He fought it, he fought it as hard as he could, but there was nothing he could do. He fell back down onto his hands and knees, head down, and crawled back over to the patio, where he saw Marv had come back out with another can of beer–and a dog bowl. “That’s a bad dog–a very bad dog!” he said, scolding Ben, and the shame ripped through him. Why had he done that? He should have never done that, he shouldn’t have even thought about it! What was wrong with him? He looked up at Marv and heard himself let off a pitiful whine of apology, tried to say something else, but his mouth…he couldn’t quite get it to work right. What came out of his mouth…it didn’t sound like words at all. “Now, drink your beer, boy,” Marv said, set the bowl down and poured the can into it, “While I get those stupid clothes off of you–I don’t think you’ll be needing them anymore, do you?”

Ben stared down at the bowl, confused, and went to try and pick it up with one of his hands…only to realize that what he still considered to be a hand wasn’t one–not anymore. The fingers had shrunken down considerably, and his thumb had pulled away from the rest of his fingers, higher up on his wrist. The nails on each finger had grown, and were all turning black, like…claws. He took one paw and brought it to his face as best he could and felt it–the snout pushing out from his smaller head, the hair growing in all over. He…he was turning into a dog.

“Go on boy, drink already.”

Ben instinctively pushed his head to the surface of the beer, and started lapping it up. He didn’t know how he knew to do it, he just…knew. Just like how he knew Marv was…his Master, and that this backyard was his home, and that…and that he was a dog. He pushed back against that, as hard as he could. He wasn’t a dog, he was a person! A human! His name was Ben, and he wasn’t some mutt, he was Marv’s neighbor, and he had to get out of here, somehow. Marv, meanwhile, had taken out a knife and started cutting away Ben’s clothes from work, tearing them off his body, and he could see that the changes, which had begun slowly, were now accelerating. Ben’s back legs were narrowing and growing shorter–without realizing it, Ben had gone from being on his hands and knees, to being on his front and back paws–all four legs now fully raised. “Yeah, now that’s a handsome lookin’ pup right there. I’ve really missing having one around, you know, but no normal dog is really satisfying, once you’ve had a special one in your life, like my uncle made. Smarter than any normal mutt, loyal, completely obedient, and willing to do anything–absolutely anything for their master’s pleasure, right boy?”

He felt Marv grab…something. Something attached to him, right above his ass. It took him a moment to realize it was his fledgling tail, just starting to grow in–now a few inches long, mostly nude, but with hair rapidly filling in. He gave a yelp, when he felt a finger probe into his ass, and tried to pull away, but Marv wrapped his other arm around his hips, and hauled him back.

“Now now, boy–you want this as much as I do. This is a mutt’s ultimate service for their master–now hold still!”

Ben heard Marv unzip the fly of his jeans, and a moment later something much larger than a finger pressed against his hole–it was Marv’s cock. But while the disgust was still there, it was quickly eclipsed by something else…he was happy. Thrilled, really. Eager. His master slid into his tail hole, and Ben gave a yip, eager for his Master to fill him up, eager to serve him.

“Yeah, that’s a good boy–you’re a good boy, aren’t you? You won’t be trying to escape ever again, I can promise you that–you’re going to be on a very tight leash, not that you’d want it any other way, right mutt?”

The hair was spreading faster now, filling in all over Ben’s body. On his front legs (his arms he tried to tell himself, but that wasn’t right! They were legs, weren’t they?) the hair was a light golden tan, all the way down to his new paws, and looking back, looking up at his master, his handsome master fucking his tail hole, he could see that over his back, in a saddle, the fur was black. He’d seen dogs like this, like him, before–one of his next door neighbors when he was a kid, who’d been a police officer, had had one. He was becoming a german shepherd. His tail kept growing longer, the hair on it filling out and turning bushy. Marv…Master…he was close. Ben could sense it, and it was getting him excited as well, the heat in his own crotch increasing as his cock, the last human part of him, began to shift. The skin turned into a bright red, and it shrank somewhat–the head becoming narrow and flared, a furry sheath growing up over his balls and the shaft, though he was much, much too horny for it to slide in at the moment. His master–his master was fucking him, and he loved it when his Master fucked him, it was the greatest feeling a pup like him could feel, and he loved it.

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 3)

Ben nodded, and Marv slipped into the house, leaving Ben alone in the grass. He eyed the gate, knowing he should leave, that something about this man, and this house, and this yard, was very strange, and somehow very wrong…but he’d been told to stay. He’d been told to stay, and so he had to stay. Still, he didn’t have to stay exactly here, right? He looked at the patio, and the only feature was a dirty table and a couple of chairs, and he walked over to take a seat…but as he did, he noticed that, for some reason, his feet were hurting in his shoes. He sat down and tried to ignore it, but the ache was there even without putting any pressure on him–and his hands hurt too, oddly enough. Was it from carrying the doghouse? It had been awkward more than heavy, but maybe he was more out of shape than he thought.

Marv returned after a couple of minutes with two cans of beer in hand. He set one down in front of Ben, and then sat down at the table across from him in the other chair with a grunt. Ben grabbed the can, but the pain in his hand was intensifying, and he found it a bit…difficult to grip it, and when he brought it to his mouth to take a drink, the cold liquid made his teeth ache as well–and that ache didn’t fade after he’d swallowed. “You know…I’m not…feeling very good,” Ben said, “I think I might be coming down with something. I should probably go.”

“No Ben–you’re going to sit, stay and drink your beer,” Marv said, that grin on his face a bit wider. “That would make you feel good, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Don’t worry about the rest, Ben. Just relax.”

“A-Alright…” he said, still feeling confused, and took another sip of beer from the can, feeling a bit of it run down his chin and onto his shirt, which was awkward, but if Marv noticed, he didn’t seem to be bothered by it–he was too busy filling the silence, with nothing in particular–talking about the dog house for a bit, about how much it meant to finally have it back. Pontificating about sports for a while, about how much better the teams were back where he’d grown up, and Ben–despite being a local fan–found it hard to get a word in edgewise. His mouth…didn’t quite seem to work right, and his tongue would get in the way. He checked the can to see what the alcohol level was, but it wasn’t particularly strong, but even then, his vision seemed a bit…off. Words were a bit blurry, and everything seemed less…vibrant, like the color was slowly draining from everything around him, particularly the red hues of Marv’s shirt.

Still, he had to sit, and stay, and finish the beer, right? But that was proving harder than he’d expected for some reason, because after sitting with Marv and listening to him for fifteen minutes or so…he found it surprisingly difficult to pick up the can of beer in front of him. His hands were cramping badly now, the pain growing, and he couldn’t get his fingers to wrap around the can, and his thumb was refusing to work. With a growl, growing frustrated, he gave the can a bat, tipping it over and spilling beer all over the table.

“Having some trouble man?” Marv asked.

“I…I ‘eally don’ heel good…” Ben said, “I can’ pic ap the ‘an.”

“Yeah, I can see you having a bit of trouble there, boy,” Marv said, and hefted himself up out of his chair. “Let me get you something else–I’ll just be a second.”

Ben tried to object, hoping Marv would actually understand his distress, but the words wouldn’t quite come to his mouth. All he managed in the end, after Marv had shut the door, was a high pitched whine. What in the world was wrong with him? He looked down at his hands, and they didn’t…look right. His fingers seemed a bit too short–especially his thumbs, and they had somehow slid down his hand, closer to his wrist. Had…had he somehow broken his hands, without even realizing it? He needed to get out of here–he had to get help, since it was clear that Marv wasn’t going to do anything for him. He steeled himself, and stood up, feeling…a wave of dread and horror wash through him for standing up and disobeying Marv’s order to sit, but he did it. He was wobbly, and felt almost drunk, and for some reason he couldn’t…drop his heels to the ground, leaving him stuck standing on the balls of his feet. When he tried, the tendons at the back of his legs screamed in pain–he’d just have to balance as best he could. He pushed back the chair and nearly fell over, tried to take a step, and his foot slipped right out of his shoe. He looked down at his foot–and through the sock, it looked…even more deformed than his hands did. He looked at the shoe, abandoned under the table, but there was no way he’d be able to bend down and pick it up with his hands contorted like they were–he’d have to abandon them. He stepped out of his other shoe, and started across the yard, shaking and unsteady for a few steps, until he lost balance and fell into the grass on hands and knees.

Fine–he’d just crawl, he told himself. It seemed a bit easier actually, than walking had been, and he moved through the tall grass to the gate, looked up, and saw the latch. He tried to get his knees underneath him, so he could stand back up, but like his heels, the tendons and muscles of his body were screaming at him, refusing to move in any normal direction. Unable to get onto his knees, he had to try and reach up with his hands, crawling up the side of the gate, but even when he got high enough to touch the latch, his paralyzed hands were worthless.

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 2)

It was not a new doghouse by any means, in fact, it looked like it had housed quite a few pooches since it had been built, and it smelled like it too. The scent was strong enough, in fact, that when Marv threw off the tarp, it caught Ben off guard, making him sneeze.

“Finally got the last thing from my old place! Fucking moving company lost it, can you believe it? Offered to buy me a new one, but I made the fuckers hunt the thing down and it get to me. Some things can’t be replaced, you know?”

Ben did not know. As soon as something around his home began to show signs of wear, or no longer served its function, you just bought a new one. Isn’t that what normal people did? “It seems pretty old…”

“It’s been in my family for years, ever since my great uncle built it. Been wanting a new dog, but I’ve had to wait until I got the proper housing for it. Can’t have a proper dog without a proper doghouse.”

“Oh…do you have a breeder lined up yet?”

“Oh no, I only adopt.”

“Oh, well that’s good I suppose…so, do you need help lifting it?”

“That’s the idea! I could probably get it myself, but with the gate and all, it’s easier with a helper. You don’t mind, do you?”

It seemed like an easy enough task. Ben helped Marv get it to the edge of the truck bed, and then together, they hefted it up and carried it between the two of them over to the gate. Ben held it for a moment while Marv fished the latch open, and with his face pressed to the wood, he was again struck by the scent of the little dwelling. If the thing had been lost for so many months, then how in the world did the scent seem so…fresh? Ben had never been one to own a pet–especially a dog. It seemed like far too much effort on a thing that wouldn’t bring much reward–and if they smelled like this, then that gave him yet another reason to pass. But as they got it into the backyard, he reconsidered. It didn’t smell that bad, really. In fact, there was something about it that he almost…enjoyed? It was hard to explain what, exactly, he liked about it, but it was…comforting. They set it down in a corner of the yard, and Ben could finally take a look around the place–the closest he, or any of his other neighbors, had gotten to Marv’s house since he’d moved in. The backyard wasn’t much to look at, however–it had been as poorly maintained as the front was–though even more overgrown.

“You know, you can borrow my lawnmower anytime, Marv,” Ben said, kicking some of the ankle high grass.

The older fellow laughed, “Yeah, but why bother? It just keeps growing.”

“Yeah, that’s why you cut it.”

“No, you cut it to show everyone else that you cut it,” Marv said, with a wink. “Ya’ll do a lot of things so other people see you do them. Never been much interest to me–more interested in not being seen doing much.”

“It shows.”

“Yeah? Thanks! I’m pretty good at it.”

Ben wasn’t quite sure what to say to that–it wasn’t quite how he’d imagined the conversation might go, he supposed he should excuse himself and head back to his house, but something was making him linger. As overgrown and empty as the backyard was, just like the dog house next to him, there was something…comforting about it. Maybe…Maybe he was doing it wrong. It was a lot of work, after all (or rather, it would be without the help he hired to take care of it each week) and he didn’t know why, but this did seem easier. Like he could just settle down into the grass, next to the dog house, laze about all day…but that was silly, right? Very silly. He needed to get going, after all, there were things he had to do.

“Well, if that’s everything, I’ll probably head back.”

“Leaving already?” Marv said, “Stick around. There’s beer in the fridge, and I owe you a thank you drink at least, don’t I?”

It was a good offer, and the longer he stood there, the more he did, kind of, want to stay…and it was that sensation of comfort which he found himself distrusting more and more. Why did he want to be here, suddenly? He shouldn’t, right? The place looked like a dump, and even though all of the curtains were drawn, he had little doubt that inside would look much like the outside. “Katie is…expecting me actually, I should go–but maybe some other time.”

Before he could head to the gate, however, Marv was next to him, threw an arm around him, and a new scent hit him–it was Marv. The smell–it had the same…punch as the dog house and the yard did, but perhaps even stronger, and his legs went a bit weak. “Come on now, boy. You want to stay and have a drink with me.”

“Yeah…yeah, I do…” he muttered, and as he did, he felt…good. Good to agree with Marv, good to obey him. He felt good, and he also felt his cock stir in the front of the khakis he had on.

“Good boy,” Marv said, gave Ben a scritch behind the ears, and then headed for the house. Stay out here for a bit–I’ll just be a few minutes. You know how to stay, right boy?”

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 1)

It was a nice life–the sort of life Ben had always wanted. A nice job that he only hated some of the time, a house of his own on a quiet, suburban cul-de-sac, and last year he’d gotten married to a lovely woman, and they were planning on starting the rest of their family soon. He’d made it–from here on out, it would be smooth sailing, and maybe an early retirement. Boring, safe, pleasant and happy. That’s what he wanted. So when their new neighbor moved in–an older fellow by the name of Marv–he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. He was probably twenty years older than Ben, but it was clear his life was not nearly as on track as his own. From the look of the truck he drove up, he worked in construction or something similar–no wife, no family. He was just…alone.

Of course, Ben didn’t really have much interest in his neighbors. He was pleasant, and he expected pleasantness in return, but beyond that, he preferred everyone else stayed out of his business. He especially felt that way about Marvin, though he found it difficult to explain why he felt uneasy around the older man. It was, perhaps, because despite the fact that his life seemed rather unfulfilled, he was, all the same, rather…happy. Or if he wasn’t happy, he could put on a very convincing happy face. And so, Ben found himself thinking and watching and wondering about Marv more than many of his other, much more normal neighbors. The others were like him, and in their normalcy, more transparent. He didn’t know the details–he could infer the rest from the jobs, the wives, the pets, the children. But over the next few months, as Marv settled into the cul-de-sac, it was clear that he was not cut from the same normal cloth as the rest of them.

The lawn was overgrown, and where everyone else conscientiously watered the grass all summer, he let his grow too long and it browned it several patches from the heat and sparse rain. The rest of the landscaping went unattended, and by early fall it was also overgrown and full of weeds. A few of the neighbors tried to mention it to him, and hint at the fact that his growing eyesore was possibly wounding their own property values, but as understanding as he would appear, nothing would change, and without as all powerful HOA there was little anything anyone could do but watch, and gossip, and wonder. No one could really know, what took place inside that house. There were no symbols of normalcy, no wife, no kids, and no conventional job, and so all that remained was speculation around the rotating neighborhood bar-be-ques, which Marv always courteously declined the attend.

“He’s a slob, and have you seen how many beer bottles are in the recycling?”

“”He probably works himself to the bone; I feel sorry for him. If I worked in construction the last thing I’d want to do is do a bunch of heavy lifting once I got home.”

“He seems so lonely–I don’t think he’s had anyone over since he moved in.”

“I wonder why he won’t come over? I’ve asked him to come by a few times, but he’s always said no. He seems like a snob to me.”

Ben could guess along, but none of his neighbor’s convictions seemed to move him. In all honesty, he had found himself reaching a space where he could stop caring. After all, he was much more focused on his wife, Katie, and trying to get her pregnant, to really worry about some strange, eccentric neighbor of his. The others could fret, and worry, and do their best to bring him into suburban line, but Ben had his path, and his plan, and he had no intention of letting anything upset it.

And so, when Marv waved to him across the cul-de-sac one September Saturday, Ben was confused. He hadn’t done anything to deserve a wave, had he? Picked up the mail? Dropped a newspaper at the porch? No–he’d simply resolved to let Marv have his strange life, a life Ben would never want to have a part of, and he assumed, in return, that Marv would show him no interest as well.

Still, he waved back. It’s what you did, after all. And instead of leaving at that, Marv smiled and walked across the street to where Ben was standing at the end of his driveway, wondering, what, in the world, the man could want.

“Hey there–it’s Ben, right?” Marv said as he came up. “Glad I could catch you–I was wondering if I could get your help with something real quick. You seem like the kind of fellow who isn’t afraid of a bit of heavy lifting.”

In fact, Ben was a bit of a scrawny fellow, and had never really been suited to much hard work. He generally hired help to do most of the heavy lifting around his house–and Marv…well, Marv seemed like he could tackle pretty much anything on his own. A few inches over six feet, broad in the shoulder, packed with muscle and a hefty gut–what could he possibly need anyone’s help with, much the less Ben’s? At the same time, you didn’t say no to a neighbor, either. Without asking for details, he said yes, and followed Marv back to his home, and around to the back of his truck. Inside, covered by a tarp which Marv unfurled, was a doghouse.

In the Doghouse (Part 4)

CW: Scat, Filth, etc. Read at your own risk.

“Yeah, that’s the kinda Faggot I wanna see, good fuckin’ Faggot…” Gage said, petting Carson’s head, and the pride he felt sickened him, but he didn’t stop. After a couple of minutes, he pushed Gage off, and heaved himself up from the recliner, dropped his filthy briefs and bent over the side, still stroking his cock, “Come on ya fuckin’ dogboi–time tah earn yer fuckin’ keep. All dogs love sniffin’ ass, ‘n yer no fuckin’ exception–’n yer Master loves cummin’ with a tonuge in his hole.”

Carson whined and tried to fight it, tried to deny it, but he did as Gage ordered, walking behind him, giving his filthy crack a sniff, and then started licking it. It was filthy, and obviously Gage hadn’t wiped well, if at all, but to his tongue, the filthier it tasted, the more he wanted it–something Gage didn’t stop reminding him of, “Yeah, how’s it feel Faggot? Ya like bein’ trapped in that nasty fuckin’ dogboi body? Don’t worry–ya’ll break eventually. Won’t even have tah collar ya in a few months, ya’ll love what I do tah ya–all of it–ya’ll be beggin’ me fer more!” Gage laughed, bore down and let out another fart, but to their surprise, a bit of shit came with it, spattering Carson’s face. He gave a snort and shook his head, trying to get it off him, but Gage just laughed some more. “Git used tah it, ya dumb mutt! Lick it up, lick it up ‘n enjoy it–ya love yer master’s nasty shit. Git back in there ‘n dig deeper. Yer Master’s close, Faggot.”

Carson licked up the shit, trying not to think too hard about how he enjoyed the taste, and then dug in deeper, probing Gage’s hole with his tongue, muzzle open wide, and listening to him moan. The sooner Gage came, he told himself, the sooner this part would be over. He licked harder, and after a couple of minutes, Gage gave a few grunts and his cock exploded all over his hand and the side of the recliner in front of him, and he panted for a moment before hefting himself back up, and pulling up his briefs. “Clean it up, Faggot. Ya’ve earned it.”

Carson licked up the cum from Gage’s hand, and then cleaned up the side of the recliner, at least happy to not have his face buried in Gage’s ass for a moment…even if he had enjoyed it. No–he shook his head. It had felt good, but he hadn’t enjoyed it–he had to keep those things separate if he was going to stay sane.

“Woowee,” Gage said, “Tuckered me out a good bit. Think it’s time fer a nap,” he said. “Still, ya gotta git in yer pen for a while, Faggot. I don’t trust ya unsupervised ‘round the house just yet–pro’ly piss on the rug tah spite me.” Gage forced him back out into the dogrun, but before locking the gate, he filled up Carson’s bowl with another load of piss, hocked in some tobacco spit, and then returned to the house. Alone again, Carson paced the dogrun looking for a weak spot to try and escape, but saw nothing…and he was thirsty. Washing his mouth out with piss seemed the best option available, but in the end, it only made his whole mouth taste even worse. The sun was hot, and the only shade available was the doghouse, so he retreated, curled up, and fell asleep.

Carson woke up a couple hours later, and saw that from the light outside, it must be approaching evening. He crawled out and looked towards the house, but didn’t see any movement inside, and none of the lights were on–either Gage was still asleep, or he’d left to run errands. In any case, he needed to try and escape. More than anything else, though–Carson needed to shit, and quick. There was no easy place to do it, so he picked the corner furthest from the doghouse, humped up as best he could, and dropped a massive load of stinking shit next to the fence. He hated that he enjoyed the scent of it, but he ignored it and focused on trying to climb the fence instead. However, his body was still too unfamiliar to him to make it work–and the fact that he’d packed on close to a hundred pounds over the course of the morning didn’t help either. In the end, he was left panting, exhausted, and he walked over to the bowl, pissed into it with a bit better aim than before, and took a drink.

He hated that this seemed normal, after just a day. He hated that he was actually enjoying this. He sat down and rolled his back legs up, looking back at his cock where it had slipped out of his sheath, and realized that with his shifted body…he could lick it himself. He did, tasting it, and he kept licking it, enjoying the sensation as the first real pleasure he’d had since entering this house a day before, but he was interrupted by the sound of the back door opening and shutting. “Enjoying yerself Faggot? Like the taste a that dogcock?” Gage said, “Might have tah bring a few other mutts ‘round fer ya tah play with if ya do.” He quickly uncurled himself as Gage unlocked the dogrun. “Come on in mutt–time fer dinner.”

Carson followed him inside, and the smell of food on the air was heavenly. Gage must have been out shopping–he saw a whole chicken on the table, still steaming–probably from a supermarket deli. “Stop slobberin’ mutt–that ain’t fer ya, ‘n ya know it. “Besides, Master always eats first–but ya can make me happy while I do, right mutt?”

Carson spent the meal under the table, licking at Gage’s nasty feet and licking at his cock–whatever Gage wanted him to do, really, licking up the grease and spit that fell from his mouth as he ate onto his huge belly, sniffing the farts and belches Gage let off regularly. When he finished, Gage pushed back with a final belch, and hefted himself up. “Alright boy–time fer yer dinner,” he said, and walked over to a metal bowl on the floor, squatted over it, and with a few grunts, started dumping shit into the bowl right in front of Carson’s snout. “See mutt? Ya git all the tasty food too, ya just git it the second time ‘round. Still, we both know how the taste ‘n smell a Master’s shit makes ya hungry ‘n horny, right Faggot? Ya dirty fuckin’ dogboi?”

He fought–he fought hard. He’d done it earlier, but he hadn’t imagined that shit was going to be his main food from that point on. Still, his slobbering muzzle eventually found its way to the bowl, and he started scarfing down Gage’s shit, while the big man laughed beside him. “Fuck yeah, ya nasty faggot…” He got down behind Carson, and with a yelp, he felt Gage grab his hips and shove his hard cock into his ass, “Yeah, keep eatin’ ya fuckin’ mutt! I wanna fuck ya while I watch ya eat mah warm fuckin’ shit. Fuck, look at ya, ya fuckin’ shameless beast. I’m gonna love watchin’ ya fight, ‘n ya better fight hard, cause when ya finally give in, when ya finally accept the fact that yer nothin’ but a filthy, disgusting mutt–fuck, that’s gonna be a real sweet sight…”

Gage kept fucking him even after he’d finished his meal, but came soon after, filling his ass with a load of cum before pulling out, leaving Carson panting and whining, tears running down his face. “Aww, don’t cry boy, here, we can make ya feel better, right? Roll o’er boy.”

Carson rolled over, legs up, cock hard and slimy against his belly. “Yeah, I can make good dogboi’s like you feel real good…” Gage said, squatted down over him, and pressed his filthy ass to Carson’s muzzle. He licked up the shit caught in his cheeks, while Gage started tugging on his dog cock roughly, telling Carson what a treat it was to be jacked off by his Master, that it’s the only way a nasty dog like him can cum. With a yelp, his cock released a huge load of cum all over his belly, and Gage praised him, telling him he was a good shit eating mutt. “Yeah, yer gonna see, mutt. Yer gonna be real happy here ‘fore too long. Hungry all the time, beggin’ yer master fer shit–ya ain’t never gonna git enough, but that’s how I want ya–desperate, hungry, ‘n always horny fer yer Master.”

He made Carson clean up the floor, and then shooed him back out into the now dark yard for the night, locking him back up in the dogrun, and Carson…he was numb. He’d cum with his tongue deep in his Master’s hole, and worse…he wanted to do it again, so badly. Even worse than that…he was hungry again, and it was only getting worse. He caught a scent on the air, and saw his now cold shit in the corner of the dog run. Trying not to think about it, he walked over and ate it as quickly as he could…and only after did he realize he hadn’t heard Gage go back into the house.

He looked back over his shoulder, muzzle still covered in his own shit, and saw Gage leering at him on the steps. “Good boy,” Gage said, and went back inside.

He could still fight this, Carson told himself as he settled in for the night, a bit more comfortable than the night before with the extra padding of his new weight. He could fight him–he knew it. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight him, not really, and that, he realized, is why he was already lost.