My Talking Dog Is Too Horny But You Can't Refund A Pet!
Part one of My Talking Dog! (part 2 will be up in just a few days :3)
Ever wondered what it would be like if your dog owned you?
This is one of my first uploads here so please show some love and consider watching if you enjoy it :3
This is my first feral post, but many more will come. It's one of my fave kinks >:3 got a bunch of ideas for these two characters, but I'm also excited to write new pairings and situations in the future! Feel free to suggest stuff in the comments <3
I’d wanted a pet dog for ages, and having recently moved out to an apartment of my own, I finally had the opportunity. And I know, I know, before you say it, yes, there’s this preconception that anyone who buys a talking feral rather than a regular one is because talkers can offer legal consent. Harkness test pass guaranteed and all that. But, I promise sex wasn’t my intention! Intention being the key word…
I went for a talker because I had lived with family or friends my entire life up until then, and I didn’t deal too well with being alone. I needed some companionship, somebody I could have a chat with whenever I liked, you know?
So, barely a week after moving in, I got in my car and headed out to the talking pet store. The assistant was skeevy as hell, kept asking about my ‘needs’ and my ‘preferences’, but in a way that made it sound like whatever I answered would end up as jerk-off material on his next break. Creep. I was just your everyday donkey in need of a little company.
His behaviour had made me so suspicious that it took me a little bit to realize what he was talking about when he asked what breed of feral dog I was after. To be fair, he did put a lot of emphasis on the word breed. Anyway, I wanted a big dog, my thought being that a big cuddly pup would make a better replacement companion to people than a tiny handbag-sized one. I promise my intentions were pure, I really do. I asked to see the Alaskan Malamutes.
They had three in. Two males and a female, or, since they can talk, I guess I should really say two fine feral men and one elegant feral lady. Being that they’d matured enough to talk meant, of course, that they were all fully grown and boy were they a beautiful set of big, fluffy critters that set me to beaming the moment I saw them.
In the presence of a potential buyer they were all so excited and talkative, each of them immediately trying to sell themselves to me. It was quite overwhelming actually. It started with heated comparisons between their stick-fetch times, incredible loyalty and capacity for good behavior, though the lady was notably the quietest of the three. It was when the sales assistant instructed them each to ‘show off’ that things suddenly turned up to eleven.
I was blushing hard, feeling a heat radiate beneath the fur of my cheeks, standing still and frozen but for my eyes which darted between the three ferals as they put on their display. While I did tell the assistant that this was absolutely not what I wanted a talker for, I didn’t exactly say it quickly…
The first male had twirled around and lifted his tail. He extended his front paws so that he could lean forward, his head close to the ground and rear held high as he looked back at me, hips swaying to and fro enticingly with his hole, sheath and balls on full, mouthwatering display. The second male had instead put his paws up high against the side of his enclosure, practically standing and almost tall as me. He smirked at me while his rod provocatively poked out of his sheath below, beading with pre as his body language begged me to bend over and let him have me. The lady, however, was far more coy. She lay on her side with a casual air about her, her legs parted in just the right way to let the plump flesh of her cookie show between tufts of fur. I wasn’t even sure if the peak at her pussy was intentional, or if she was simply abdicating from her obligation to perform for potential new owners. Either way, the three dogs’ displays left me stammering and stiffening for far longer than I’d like to admit.
In the moments that followed, as the assistant bade them to stop, I reminded myself why I wanted a talking feral in the first place and knew that my choice was obvious. Those boys were far too horny, I would have the fine lady for my own. When I told her she was coming home with me, she seemed pleased, yet impressively demure.
On the way to my apartment she was waggy, but relatively calm. She asked simple questions about where I lived and what my schedule was like, talked excitedly of walks and asked if I was going to rename her or keep her shop name. I asked what she thought.
“Crystal,” she said, looking up at me from the passenger seat, unblinking and proud.
“What?”
“I’ve thought a lot about it, and I want to be called Crystal.”
I’d never heard of a feral dog naming herself. Perhaps she was testing me, maybe I should have asserted dominance as her new owner and chosen a name for her myself, maybe then I could’ve stopped things from escalating the way they did. Alas…
“Okay,” I said. “Crystal it is! It suits you.”
She wagged and let out a happy little bark, but otherwise quietened down after that. It was when I got her home that the problems began.
I tried to show her to her doggy bed in the living room, but without explanation she padded right past me and into my bedroom.
“Hmm,” she said. “Yes, this will do. A decent size for a woman of my needs and standing.”
“N-no,” I explained, following after her and pointing back out towards the doggy bed. “That’s your bed. This is my bedroom.”
She let out a series of small barks that sounded like laughter and jumped right onto my bed.
“I think you’re confused, pet. That out there isn’t suitable for a veritable queen like me.
“I, uh, what did you just call me?”
Lounging on my bed, she pointed lazily toward the doggy bed with her right forepaw. “I don’t see what the confusion is. That right there is a bed for a pet, like you.”
First came the denial.
“Excuse me, I’m not a pet. You’re the-”
“Pet: meaning domesticated animal. A fair description of you, correct? I think you know how to follow an order or two.”
Then came the blushing, the stammering.
“Wh-wh-what exactly are you getting at here?”
“I see. My new pet needs better domestication. Well, that can certainly be arranged.”
She opened her legs with a deliberate flair, spreading wide as I stood over her fluffy, feral form to reveal her spade, puffy and glistening, as she stared hard into my eyes, utterly unflinching. She was clearly in heat, her scent was intoxicating. Despite myself I could feel an unmistakable tightness in my pants. Her tail wagged, slow and low, where it drooped over the side of the bed. I was hypnotized by the sight of her. Already, she was assuming control.
It was then that I realized exactly what I had just gotten myself into. The store assistant’s parting words echoed in my mind: remember, no refunds.
I gulped hard and took a step back, waving both hands at her in denial.
“No, no, you see, there’s been some kind of mistake. Like I said at the store, I didn’t purchase you for se-”
She rolled onto her back to give me an even more explicit display of her swollen canine cunt.
“I saw the way you stared at me in there. I’ve seen the pathetic, beta way you handle yourself. You’re practically soaking those jeans right now.” She produced a low, rolling growl. “I know what you are, pet. Now get your muzzle down there and start licking.”
I suppose I should have refused.