A Dog's Life

Out the window I stare… like the good pup I am.

No one can see me in here, of course. Master's specially-tinted Aston-Martin is virtually impenetrable to the gaze of any curious onlookers who might wander by. No one can see, unless they were to press their faces right up to the glass, how the spacious back seat holds an occupant who is… well, shall we say, rather unusually dressed?

If you can call it dressed it all.

I haven't had clothes since Master made me his: not proper ones. Of course there's this thick leather posture collar around my neck: its tight, ever-present embrace reminding me that, as a good and obedient pup, I may not look away when Master hauls me close. There's the muzzle that he loves to put me in whenever we go out, too. I can't even begin to describe the pup's face it gives me, complete with perky ears – nor can I adequately explain the intricate network of leather straps that circle my head. All I know is that when Master draws them tight and buckles them fast, one after another, the girthy rubber ball between my teeth presses home with muffling finality. Thus muzzled, even barks and yips for me are completely impossible – let alone words. The only sound I can muster is a plaintive, soft little whine, wordlessly begging Master to pay attention to me…

At it should be, I guess. I'm just a pup, after all.

I shift position here on the glossy seat's surface, and as I do so the gleaming leather pads of my paws draw my gaze. How could I forget about them? They too are clothes, of sorts: imprisoning my fingers, drawing them downward and inward into pathetic little fists. Tightly buckled as they are around my wrists, there's no way I can tug them off, even if my teeth were somehow free. And as I gaze down at my useless leather paws, I can practically hear the voice of my Master echoing in my memory…

Puppies don't have fingers. They don't deserve them. They wouldn't even know how to use them.

Yes, Master, I agree silently, and wriggle with instinctive abandon at the thought of his deep, commanding voice. It just… it feels so good to think of him. To know that he's in charge, that he's deciding everything for me. To be certain, every single morning as I wake, that I need to nothing but obey. Nothing is expected of me anymore: no job, no commuting, no commitments or emails or phone calls. Just… obey.

Stay.

Master's latest command is still fresh in my mind, and even as I gaze expectantly out the window, across the street, and toward the stolid façade of the apartment building into which he has disappeared, I have no thought of doing otherwise. Not because I'm trapped, or because I've tried and failed to escape from this securely locked vehicle. No, of course not. I'm a good pup. And so I wait here.

I stay.

So what if my silly puppy pee-pee is swelling, growing taut and erect at the thought of Master's control over me? So what if my naked haunches tremble silently here as I kneel, longing to feel Master's whip training me into whining obedience? So what if my hungry little rosebud is clenching around the base of my puppy tail, aching instead for the breath-catching girth and fierce thrusts of Master's thick cock?

Even good puppies get horny, I guess.

Yes, I admit it. There was definitely a time where the very idea of such things would have made me blush. I would have shrank away in distaste from such a life, from pictures and even descriptions of good puppy boys and their masters. I mean, sure, I was gay. I'd known that practically forever. But I didn't see the need to be so freaky, either. Why not just cuddle and fuck and live like normal people?

But even then, somewhere in the back of my mind, the submissive pup had lurked… waiting for Master's coming to set him free.

And oh, what a trip it has been, following Master's lead down into my new puppy life! First came the bone-shaped gag, thrust between my slavering lips and clenched between my gritting teeth as Master pounded me from behind, commending me for being a good boy for him. Then came the normal collar – wide and snug, and with a tag showing how it had come fresh from a pet store. To it, on my birthday, we affixed specially engraved tags: first as a joke that made Master laugh and myself blush, and then as a matter of course.

I was already his devoted little pet sub, after all. So really, were the jingling tags confirming it really that unexpected?

But now, even as my mind lingers over the luscious memories – my first dinner from my brand-new puppy bowls, and the bone-shaped treats our cook made specially for me, and the lead with which he has recently begun leading me about his expansive garden – I'm dragged back to the present. Master… he's coming. At last!

And he has someone with him. Someone blond. Someone whose face looks shockingly familiar.

But of course, nothing escapes my well-gagged and muzzled mouth but a panicked whimper. I'm unrecognizable in this mask, I recall, even as my heart thuds with rising anxiety. So long as it remains on, the guest that is about to enter our car might not even know me. He might not even know that the naked, muzzled puppy boy in the back seat is… is…

His ex.

It simply hadn't worked out between Gary and me. Not that the sex hadn't been good! It was just… see, he'd told me about this kink of his. And I, like the naive and judgmental twenty-two year old I'd been at the time, had sneered at it. Laughed at him. Asked why the hell anyone would ever like something so fucking weird as wearing a fucking diaper.

All this is rising up before me now. The door opens to admit the sound of their laughter, and Master guides the visibly waddling Gary into the front seat. "See? I told you I had a cute puppy for you to play with!" Master beams, buckling Gary into place as if he were an oversized toddler before shutting the door and taking his place in the driver's seat. "Now, let's go home, shall we? I just know my new little boy is going to love playing with such a good, obedient puppy…"

As Master's knowing eyes meet mine in the mirror, a little whine of anxiety escapes me. Oh… God. I don't know whether or how soon my identity will become known to Gary, but that doesn't matter. They're going to "have fun" with me – which means that my needy, pathetic puppy ass is going to receive more than its fair share of pounding. It's flashing before my vivid imagination already: I'll grovel before them, and Master will show his good little diapered boy how to discipline the puppy. With that flogger… and maybe a dildo… and who knows? Maybe even Master's own massive cock.

And all the while, Gary will be looking on… watching his ex – the guy who judged him and his kink so harshly – becoming more humiliated and degraded than even he would ever dream.

But I'm Master's pup now. And good pups… obey.