FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Before you begin reading, I'd like to mention three quick items.

Item 1 -- This story involves hardcore non-consensual sexual slavery with a heavy emphasis on puppy play. If this doesn't sound like your cup of tea, no worries! For those who fall in that category I recommend that you jump out of this story now before you become emotionally invested in any of the characters. But if puppy play themed sexual slavery is your jam, please dig in!

Item 2 -- Holy balls, this is a long story. At 75+ pages and 38,000+ words, this is the longest story I've ever written. That's half the length of a short novel (which puts this story somewhere between "short story" and "novel"). But I'm not your dad, so if you want to read it in a single sitting, power to you. But in that case you'll probably want to set some time aside for it because it's going to take you a couple hours to get through it.

Item 3 -- I (Blackstone, the author) don't really do traditional "happy endings" for my stories, where the hero triumphs and the villain is vanquished. Though, isn't "happy" just a matter of perspective? To that point, this story is full of characters who are perfectly happy with both their circumstances and their choices. They just may not be the same people the average reader would prefer to root for. Do with this information what you will.

Without further ado, please enjoy.

=======

Marcus thought that his new boy was coming along nicely.

It always took a great deal of work to scout, approach, and build a rapport with a potential puppy, but if handled appropriately the effort was more than worth it.

Puppy "rearing" wasn't a traditional job, the mature fox knew. Most wouldn't have the stomach, patience, or seed-money to track down a handsome twenty-something boy, befriend them, gain their trust, and then patiently guide them down the one-way road of becoming a fulltime puppy. Particularly because a key component of this plan involved not informing the future puppy that there would be no "going back" for them once that metaphorical door closed behind them.

Marcus' current target was a beautiful husky named Jake. The fox had met the twenty-one year old barista at a coffee shop, making sure to leave a positive impression while not going so far as to actually engage the youth in a conversation. That would wait until the "coincidental" second encounter at the park where Marcus would strike up a pleasant conversation with the husky while they oh-so-conveniently jogged together.

It was much like running a confidence game, except instead of trying to steal a boy's money or propriety, the goal of the con was to steal the boy himself. This worked because most twenty-one year olds were painfully naïve. That and, boys like Jake didn't believe they had anything worth stealing. But they only believed that because they didn't understand how much their bodies were worth. How much middle-aged rich men (and more than a few women) would pay to gain around the clock access to their pretty puppy mouths and asses.

After the initial "coincidental" contacts, things became much easier for the conman (though he preferred to think of himself as a "puppy trainer"). Once the forty-three year old fox had a foot in the door, it was fairly straightforward to build upon that foundation and to create additional opportunities to grow their relationship and get to know the canine. The following weeks would involve some combination of flirting with the boy, offering the husky easy odd jobs that paid cash, and generally being very complimentary and positive towards the husky.

Marcus told Jake that he was handsome (which was definitely true), that he had great potential (which was also true), and that he had a tremendous future ahead of him (which was true from a certain perspective). In return, the blushing young man did Marcus the favor of responding well to his flattery and praise -- neither of which the husky was used to receiving.

It didn't always go this easy, of course. Plenty of the boys Marcus had scouted over the years were suspicious, uninterested, or in the end proved unsuitable for the fox's needs, for whatever reason. He'd been told some variation of "fuck off, creepy old man" more times than he cared to recall. One boy -- an especially beautiful and buff dalmatian -- had tried to pick a fight with Marcus and had even managed to get a punch in before the fox could extricate himself.

For that particular individual, Marcus had decided to contact one of his colleagues in the "puppy rearing" business space who didn't mind acquiring his pups the hard way: breaking into a house in the dead of night and drugging the pup while they slept. When the fox had checked in with his colleague many months later, the female trainer said that the dalmatian meat-head had proved challenging to train but ultimately worth the time and effort. Apparently the dog had been purchased by a wealthy CEO with a penchant for fisting. Recalling the bruise the mutt had left him with those many months ago, Marcus thought it couldn't have happened to a nicer dog.

He felt the outcome was justified, given the pup had attacked him for the mere crime of attempting to strike up a conversation. And while yes, technically he'd been trying to do to the pup exactly what the female trainer had ended up doing (even if their methods and tactics were quite different from one another), the dalmatian hadn't known that at the time, had he? Therefore the puppy had been in the wrong.

But as a general rule, the fox had learned long ago not to pursue dead ends as these would only frustrate him and waste his time. If a boy wasn't working out -- even a once promising candidate -- Marcus would pack up, leave town, and follow up on the next most-promising lead passed onto him by his well compensated spotters.

Very rarely did the man pass on a boy's details to a fellow puppy rearing colleague -- even one he'd decided to pass on. This was too dangerous a practice for several reasons and there was always the possibility that the other trainer would botch the job and get caught. At which point, they'd happily throw him under the bus in an attempt to reduce their own culpability. So generally speaking, when Marcus gave up on a boy they escaped scot-free, never even knowing that their life very nearly took a remarkably different path.

But that wouldn't be necessary in Jake's case. The blushing, well-built husky already had stars in his eyes when he looked at the charismatic and well-to-do fox, unreservedly believing the cover story Marcus had shared with him over a number of hangouts and encounters. He'd told the boy that he was independently wealthy (which was true) and that he was a retired investor who now spent his time traveling the world to indulge in his favorite activity, photography (which was false).

Naturally he'd invited the highschool graduate over to his well-furnished (but leased) house to dazzle the impressionable youth with his trappings of success and mostly made-up stories of a life well lived. At this point in the relationship the fox made no mention of his true passion: Capturing and training award winning puppies.

Before the twenty-one year old left during that first visit, the charming fox made a point of placing five hundred dollars into the agog youth's hands before sinking to his knees and sucking the flustered husky off. Both of these acts were critical because this would serve as the foundation of their future relationship: Money and sex.

Marcus needed the boy to understand that he thought nothing about throwing money around (or even a great deal of money around), especially when it was in support of his passions. He also needed to plant the seed that if Jake played his cards right, he could stand to benefit tremendously from his new, eccentric friend. And finally the sex was important because the husky needed to believe he had something real and valuable to trade: his body. This would go a long way towards reducing the lad's suspicions. Though this particular husky seemed obtusely uncritical in questioning what he was being shown or told -- which was exactly how Marcus preferred things to go.

Being paid five-hundred dollars for a ten minute blowjob set the stage well on all three counts in "furthering the story". Especially because Marcus made it good for the barista. Very, very good. Truthfully the blowjob was far better for Jake than it was for Marcus, though the fox was careful to appear entirely enthusiastic by the opportunity to go down on the fellow canine. In terms of personal preference the fox was an exclusive top himself, but allowances had to be made when reeling in top quality material like Jake.

The blowjob also marked Marcus' first opportunity to "examine the goods". And when it came to what was swinging between his legs, Jake was a very lucky boy indeed. The nine inch (when erect) cock was both impressive and pretty. Despite this the fox found himself slightly annoyed at the boy's length and girth because the professional within him demanded that he do right by the shaft and that in turn was going to result in a sore, aching jaw.

But beyond that, the man was pleased. Big cocks on young men played well for the camera and it would play well in the marketing material Marcus would eventually be producing. And owners tended to like long, heavy shafts on their puppies.

For those into chastity, large units were more fun to lock up and deny access to. Well endowed puppies looked so endearingly cute and confused as they peered between their own legs to see their once proud nine, ten, or eleven incher squeezed into a confined rubber bulge or metal cage. Though truth be told it didn't really matter how big or small a boy was after they'd been stuffed into an inescapable chastity device. At that point, their size tended to be a non-factor.

As for those who enjoyed the sight of their pet "hanging free", an extra long rod made for tantalizing eye candy as it swung in time with the now four-legged pet's steps. And since many kink clubs permitted puppies inside (as long as the owner had the appropriate legal and signed ownership documentation), big dicked pups were always a popular sight with the right crowd, especially when the dog was blushing in humiliation due to their own dangling, swinging erection.

Getting back to the case of Jake, this pattern of "grooming" continued for another few weeks as the almost too eager dog came by the fox's lovely home time and again to have sex in a variety of positions, but always with the younger man as the active top. Of course, if the plan actually succeeded Jake would never be permitted to "top" anyone ever again but Marcus didn't feel the need to share this particular detail.

There were a couple of times during this period where the fox made Jake wear a condom for "roleplay reasons" but this was just a handy excuse to collect an untainted semen sample for health testing purposes. The good news there was that the husky appeared to be in good health and was perfectly fertile. Not that this second detail counted for much, considering the tastes and preferences of the fox's customer base.

Once he had the boy practically eating out of his hand, Marcus sensed that the time was right to move things forward. He asked the part-time barista if perhaps he would be interested in making even more money. Perhaps a great deal more money. A "life-altering amount" of money.

As he baited the hook, the fox leveraged all of his acting skills to make it seem as though he were entirely unconcerned whether or not the husky wanted to hear more about this "life-altering" offering. In truth Marcus was more than a little stressed because he'd seen plenty of boys walk away at this point in "the dance" (which was the man's preferred term for the con-job he ran on handsome canines like Jake).

The tension was due to the fact that if Marcus could get past this next step, history had shown that he'd be fairly well in the clear. Phrased another way, no boy who had accepted the fox's offer had ever subsequently managed to escape the trap. So statistics alone indicated that getting the boy to go along with this all-important next step was critical. And this choice was indeed "all-important" because though Jake didn't know it yet, this single decision would decide the rest of his life.

"...Just how much money are we talking about? And what would I need to do?" the husky asked as they lay together in bed, his not-yet-spent erection laying draped across the fox's red furred thigh.

Marcus beamed a genuine smile. He could hear the interest in the youth's voice. The barely disguised greed. Nothing had been done or finalized yet, but that was the moment the fox knew he'd won.

The wealthy conman spent the next couple of days carefully explaining how the arrangement would work. Phrased succinctly: Jake would give up two full years of his life in exchange for two million dollars. This would all be perfectly legal and handled via contract which would not only spell out the terms of the agreement but also detail when and how the husky would be paid.

The most critical element of the agreement was: The (soon to be former) barista would need to allow himself to be temporarily (but dramatically) altered. Out of his own pocket, Marcus would pay for a painless nano-tech vat procedure that would turn Jake from a bipedal person into a quadruped dog.

Yes: He wanted the handsome husky as his puppy. His four-legged pet dog. To pet and play with and feed and pamper and take on trips. All of that and more, for two years. Much, much more, as it turned out -- but Marcus knew better than to share any of those additional details.

The fox went on to explain that starting from the day of the procedure, a two year clock would begin to tick down. Once this term of service was complete, Jake would receive the second procedure which would fully convert him to his previous bipedal form -- completely healthy and now two million dollars richer. But during those two years he could serve as Marcus' live-in pet and sexual companion.

Marcus would promise (in writing) to keep him safe and healthy and to see to all of his needs. In return, Jake would play the role of the well-loved pet and would give all of his time and attention to his temporary "owner".

The temporary part was true. The mature fox only planned to stay on as the canine's owner long enough to ensure that his training and behavioral standards were met. This duration of this preparing-for-sale phase could vary based on the demeanor and willpower of the puppy, but Marcus had never seen it take less than six months, nor more than a ten months.

Or rather, if the fox ascertained that the pet wasn't "fully broken" by the ten month mark, he made sure he sold the dog to an owner who was looking for a challenge. There were plenty of owners and prospective owners out there who wanted some fiery spirit in their new dog. It made for an enjoyable contest of wills as the canine was brought to heel.

In regards to Jake's reaction to this pitch, it goes without saying that the husky had some reservations about the shocking offer. But Marcus came prepared with rock-solid answers to all concerns and anxieties, going so far as to show the amazed dog videos of happy, intelligent dogs running around, playing, and even fucking. The fox himself even featured in a few of these videos, showing him petting, praising, and even providing sexual gratification to a few elated puppies.

But it wasn't surprising that Marcus was well-rehearsed to soothe the barista's fears. It was the fox's job to convince boys like Jake to get onboard with the idea. The forty-three year old man had helped dozens of male youths down this same path in years past and he had no plans of retiring anytime soon.

Of course, all of the dogs shown in these videos were of the "volunteer" variety. Boys and men who came to this unique lifestyle through a more traditional means and who had decided to pursue it of their own free will. Marcus himself didn't deal in "volunteer" dogs as they could not be sold for money (at least, not legally or easily), and because their transformation contracts tended to include clauses so that their well-being would be regularly checked up on by a neutral third party.

The fox had a very different sort of contract in mind for Jake, which was why he targeted young boys who had never heard of this lifestyle or community. Neutral third parties dropping by to check in on a puppy was a non-starter for Marcus' wealthy clientele. These men and women insisted on having god-like authority over their sentient pets, including having the right to geld, neuter, and dock the males.

Naturally Jake was entirely ignorant of the distinction between "volunteer" puppies and "contracted" puppies and Marcus had no intention of ever bringing up or discussing the topic. All the husky saw was deliriously happy pups running around, barking, playing, and fucking.

The two men ended up discussing the matter at length (with Marcus verbally promising the lad whatever he needed to hear to become comfortable with the pitch) and the fox emphasized that the contract would protect the party's interests. By this he meant exclusively his own interests but he left that point purposefully ambiguous.

Less than a week later the deal was struck and the procedure was scheduled. The dense contract was signed with witnesses present (all of who were hand-picked by Marcus and in on the con) and final logistical matters were resolved (such as terminating the lease on Jake's shitty apartment and similarly mundane matters).

The boy was nervous, as anticipated. But he was also excited about what that huge amount of money would mean for his future. Had the dog bothered to read through the contract (and succeeded in noticing that there was actually a second, hidden contract within the outer to-be-disposed-of contract) he might have read between the lines to see the truth. That he would never see a single dollar of the promised money. That once he underwent the procedure and became a four-legged dog, he would lose all legal rights as a person. That there was no promise -- explicit or implied -- of him ever being returned to his original bipedal form or regaining his freedom.

And had he read carefully, he might have noticed some scary-sounding clauses regarding his future owner's rights to alter his body even further and to sell him. There was even language in the hidden second contract that his owner had full rights to "alter the signee's genitals by any means deemed appropriate and convenient, at the exclusive and sole determination of the current contract holder. Such methods include, but are not limited to: Neutering; Castrating; Docking; Complete or partial nullification; Nerve severing; Tattooing; Permanent or temporary chastity; Urethral stretching; Penile stretching; Scrotum stretching; Device implantation, Permanent or temporary dyeing; Jewelry and piercing emplacement; Genetic alterations; and Vein and arterial constricting to induce or encourage permanent erection."

Which was not to say that those rights would be exercised, but had Jake spotted that clause or bothered to read it, he probably would have felt very different about the whole affair.

But the overly trusting canine hadn't spotted this or similar clauses and so the contract signing went off without a hitch. Marcus had even been thoughtful enough to bring glasses and champagne and all parties (witnesses included) toasted Jake on his bold, bright new future. The group of men and women hid smiles behind their champagne glasses as the husky raised a glass and toasted the fact that he'd just signed all of his rights away, including his presumed inalienable right to keep his male parts safe, intact, and unaltered. The trap was closing fast around the grinning, laughing dog and he was too blinded by his dreams for the future to see it.

A few days later and the deed was done. For brevity's sake I'll spare you the details about the procedure, aside from noting that Jake spent the better part of a week unconscious, submerged in a large cylindrical vat, an oxygen mask securely fitted to his face. When he awoke after the procedure, he was stunned by the changes to his body. It was one thing to be told something was going to happen. It was quite another matter to experience it for oneself.

After recovering for a bit, Jake stood alone in front of a mirror, amazed. He... was a puppy! A four legged dog. He still more or less looked like himself -- especially around the eyes and face -- but he no longer had arms or hands and even his rear legs had been drastically altered. It felt strange to be so close to the ground. This new perspective had the effect of making the world around him look much larger than it had before.

This in turn made him shudder at a sudden and unexpected sense of powerlessness. He no longer had hands by which to operate basic tools or open doors. He could no longer use a phone or a computer. He had to rely on others for his basic needs like food and water. Noting this, Jake began to experience his first real pangs of doubts and second thoughts.

This internal voice of caution came too late, though. Much too late.

Next the twenty-one year old tried his voice. Sure enough (and as promised), he'd lost the ability to speak and could now only vocalize barks, yips, and the like. He wasn't thrilled with this change but he had decided it was fine because like the other drastic changes it would only be temporary.

What the newly made puppy failed to understand at the time was that he would never speak again. And shamefully the last words he ever spoke ended up being, "Hey Marcus. I'm probably gonna be really horny when I wake up in a few days. You going to be there to suck my puppy cock? It's an owner's responsibility to take care of their pet, after all."

To which the fox had chuckled and evasively replied, "Oh, I'll be there alright. And you can count on me to take very good care of you."

Had the fox been an honest man he might have said something along the lines of, "Silly dog. Your cock is never going anywhere near my mouth ever again. I hope you like handjobs pup, because that's all you'll be getting until I sell your ass to the highest bidder."

But Marcus didn't consider himself cruel and saw no need to twist the knife. He'd won and the overly trusting dog had lost. It wasn't in his nature to gloat or taunt. He was a businessman, in his own self-estimation, and there was no point in being an ungracious victor.

Continuing to examine himself in the mirror, Jake was relieved to see visual confirmation that his genitals had remained unaltered. Which was a bit ironic considering he'd just unknowingly given both Marcus and all of his future owners legal permission to alter his privates however they deemed fit.

It was a small mercy that the fox himself had no intention of doing so. The man left big, important decisions like that up to the future owner. He was just the trainer and "middle man" and it would hurt Jake's sell-value to permanently and prematurely alter the pet like that. Besides, horny pups were easier to train. Marcus knew from past experience just how far boys would go to earn even a single orgasm after being "kept dry" for any span of time.

Jake continued to examine himself in the mirror while the fox and vet looked on from the other side of the one-way glass. They'd been drinking and chatting in the sound-proof observation room for a few minutes now while the husky had looked himself over.

"What a pretty boy you've found, this time around," the graying capybara veterinarian noted before taking a sip from his gin and tonic. Technically it wasn't considered ethical to drink on the job, but considering what he was about to do to another puppy's sack in a half-hour's time, having a gin and tonic during work hours didn't even warrant a raised eyebrow.

"Thank you," Marcus said, inclining his head respectfully towards the doctor. "I was quite lucky this time around. While I've yet to get a full sense of how easily the training will progress this time around, I suspect he'll sell for a fair amount in the end."

"Yes, I imagine he will. He has a very... How to phrase this? A very fuckable face. He'd look perfect with a big thick one, sliding past his lips."

The fox chuckled and took a sip of his whisky.

"Interested in buying him, Dr. Tanner? For a man whose support has been so invaluable to me, I'd be happy to cut you a discount. Let's say, twenty-five percent off? If you'll accept transfer at the six month mark, even if not all not behavioral matters have been fully ironed out."

The capybara waved his hand dismissively.

"I've already got two puppy-sluts at home waiting for me. I can barely keep up with them as it is. Adding a third to the mix would just be too much. Though... I'll admit, part of me is still tempted. Very tempted."

Marcus chuckled good naturally as he and the doctor continued to watch Jake stumble around and find his balance on his four new feral legs.

"Ahh, yes. I remember: Top and Bottom, right? I believe you procured them from Tom."

"Yes, I did. Apologies, I wanted a matched set and that wasn't part of your offering. Plus, it needed to be a 'snatch job' rather than the contract-signing magic you're famous for pulling."

"No apology necessary. Heaven knows there's more demand than supply out there. I'm glad my colleague was able to help you out. By the way, in what way are they a matched set? If you don't mind me asking."

"Not at all -- I love gushing about my pups. In fact, I've been running a blog about the experience for a couple years now. Not that either of the dogs are aware of this. I want their behavior to be natural and uncensored, so I don't mention to them that they've gathered quite the following over the years. I'll forward you the website address later."

"That would be lovely, thank you."

"As for your question, after my wife died my good-for-nothing step-son kept running off to crash at this motorcycle-driving doberman's house. Despite this, out of love for my dear deceased wife I continued to support the boy, giving him cash on a weekly basis even though I hardly ever saw him. Anyway, to make a long story short I paid a private investigator to see what those two layabouts were getting up to -- since it certainly wasn't getting a job."

"Oh? And what did the PI find?"

"He found that my worthless step-son was using my money to pay the doberman to ride his cock. Blowjobs too, I'm sure. I was furious and, well, I admit that I may have gone a bit overboard in my anger and frustration. I paid Tom a princely fee to bag them both and nine months later Top and Bottom were dropped off at my place. Which is when my step-son finally understood the 'why' behind what had happened to him. Prior to that I doubt the border collie had any inkling that I was involved in his kidnapping."

"A remarkable story. But, which one is Top and which one is Bottom?"

"My former step-son is Bottom, naturally. I've locked his troublemaker permanently away and his last orgasm was the one I gave him during that first day -- post delivery -- when I explained exactly what I was doing to him and why. He squirted right into the half-full trash can as I told him what a disappointment he ended up being. Then I made him turn around and look at the useless load he'd sprayed into the trash bin and told him that was it -- no more messes from him. Immediately afterwards I locked him up and that was that. He's been caged ever since."

The thought of the border collie being forced to look at and acknowledge its own "thrown away" final orgasm made the fox smile as he took a sip from his drink.

"It was the best thing for him, I'm sure," Marcus remarked. "And how is Top involved in all of this? You could have just ignored the doberman but you said you instructed Tom to grab him too?"

"As I said, I was angry at the time. Back then I blamed him for corrupting my step-son but obviously I've cooled off since and know better now. As for my intentions for him, to be honest at first I was uncomfortable with the thought of 'using' my step-son. Sexually, that is. I've since come around on that and now I have no problem pounding a hot load into the boy -- as you'll see on my blog. But originally I wanted Bottom fucked and fucked hard, and Top was the dog that was going to get it done."

"So the biker boy your son used to pay to bend over for him now puts it to him instead?"

"Just so. Admittedly his penis is only average in size -- maybe a little smaller -- but that's fine. My point was still made. Though, it's kind of ironic how brats that go out of their way to look tough end and drive around on loud motorcycles end up being 'fun sized' in the one place it matters. I was hoping for something a bit more intimidating out of him when I commissioned Tom. Still, things worked out fine in the end."

"I suppose you could have enhanced the doberman in this area, during the vat process. If his size was a genuine concern," Marcus politely probed, more to make small talk than out of true interest for the dog's irrelevant (in his view) cock.

"I thought about it," the doctor remarked, rubbing his chin. "But what I decided at the time was that I preferred to have the largest shaft in the house. Top might be above Bottom in the hierachy's pecking order, but I didn't want him thinking he was above me in any way. Including girth and length."

"I can appreciate that. And how are they getting along now? It sounds like it's been over two years since this all took place."

"Oh, it's great. We're one big happy family now. Top and Bottom understand I'm 'top dog' in the house and we spend most evenings together. Sort of like a pack. If Top is good, I let him mount Bottom a couple of times a week for his release. Well... If I don't forget or get too busy. But I don't want him getting a big head about it so I usually stuff an extra-large plug under his tail before he gets to work. I've collected a variety of them over the years for the dogs and some of them are quite wicked in shape, size, and functionality. My blog readers have made some excellent suggestions for new toys I can stuff up Top's backside."

"And if Bottom is good?"

"If Bottom is good, I don't strap a headset around the border collie's head and force him to watch hours of hardcore porn while I'm off at work. It's not quite the same thing as a reward but it has the same effect. He hates being forced to watch other people cum when he hasn't even had a stiffy in years. So of course all the movies I put on for him tend to focus heavily on juicy close-up cumshots. I especially like the videos that repeat the cumshot in slow motion from multiple angles, again and again. Those scenes practically give Bottom a conniption -- a phenomenon which is even more notable when the performer is around his age."

"Sounds like a very intriguing setup. But wouldn't he just close his eyes?"

"That's the best part. The helmet tracks his eye movement and if he closes his eyes for too long or if his eyes aren't focused on the action, he gets a nasty shock on his privates. Cock and balls both. So you could say that he's the very definition of a 'captive audience'. He watches each and every porno I put on for him like his manhood depends on it."

"How ingenious. This is the first time I've heard of such a setup."

"Check out my blog! You'll find all of this and more there. Including some really cute videos of Bottom humping the air while the helmet is strapped to his head. Poor boy hasn't given up hope that he'll be able to cum one day. But I've tried my best to make it clear to him that that will never happen. He's still my step-son -- in addition to being my puppy -- and I love him, but I've made up my mind and that is a line I'm simply not willing to cross."

"It only seems fair, considering how much trouble he put you through."

"I heartily agree. And as it so happens, Bottom is actually wearing the helmet right now. I believe I queued him up to watch a porno series titled Daddy Likes a Tight Hole. It's a five part series and after the movies complete it will simply restart from the beginning. Though I can always queue up something else from my work computer if the mood strikes me."

"Thank you for sharing the story! I'll be sure to give the site a visit. Getting back to Jake here, if you're sure you can't buy him, you should at least come by in a few months after I've had time to get some training in."

Dr. Tanner eagerly took the fox up on his offer and then raised his glass for Marcus to toast. As their glasses clinked together the capybara said, "To handsome lads who leap first and ask questions later. May their throats be welcoming and their asses stubbornly resistant."

"To handsome lads," Marcus agreed, smiling to himself as he watched the husky try to get a better look at his privates in the full-length mirror. "Shall we head in? If you've decided what game you'd like to play with the boy. I remember promising you a 'tip' for your kind service and discretion in this matter."

The vet considered the question for a moment before replying, "I'm thinking, 'bumbling, perverted vet needs to collect a sperm sample'. Any objections?"

"Not at all. I don't place too many cum restrictions on new puppies. Not during the first three weeks or so. It will be good to start getting him used to having his body touched and his genitals handled. Just do me a favor and don't go over the top with it. My goal is to hit the fourth week before the other shoe drops, as it were."

"A reasonable request. Very well, let's get started."

The two men headed into the hallway and around the corner to enter the well-lit recovery and examination room where Jake was waiting for them, the now-forever-naked husky unaware that he'd been watched while he'd looked himself over in the mirror.

Without even so much as a "by your leave" the surprisingly strong capybara lifted the husky up on the examination table. Jake wasn't used to being handled in this way but he was more surprised than upset.

"Puppy," Marcus began, making sure to use a calm, encouraging tone of voice. "This is Dr. Tanner, your new vet. We're already quite confident that the procedure completed without a hitch, but it's policy to give all new patients a hands-on examination for use in their long-term medical file."

Jake got the sense that the fox was somehow speaking more "at him" than "with him," but this was more of a background thought than any real concern. What the dog didn't understand was that his days of being an active participant in conversations and discussions were done. Even yes-or-no questions directed his way (that he might answer with a bark or a nod of his head) would be mostly rhetorical, going forward. "Real people" just weren't that interested in what a puppy might have to say on a subject.

"Thank you for the kind introduction, Mr. Donigan. As our mutual friend here said, I am Dr. Tanner. I've a great deal of experience in dealing with semi-sentient pets like yourself, so trust me when I say that you're in good hands."

The dog's ears perked up at the term "semi-sentient". The way the graying capybara spoke was friendly enough, but that term was... disquieting for the canine. But once again he found himself incapable of speaking up or even asking a follow-up question. All he managed was an odd "yipping" sound which made both of the clothed men laugh, as though the husky had just told an especially funny joke.

The unsophisticated youth failed to understand that they were not laughing "with him" and that their mirth was at his expense. The two men were enjoying how helpless and confused he was. His wide-eyed powerlessness aroused the men, though their tented trousers were hidden beneath the edge of the examination table.

"I have to step outside to take a call, Jake, but Dr. Tanner here is going to walk you through the examination process. You should know that there might be an element or two of the examination that are a bit more personal that you were expecting but all new pups have to go through this so don't let it throw you. The doctor has my complete trust and I strongly encourage you to listen closely to what he has to say."

And with a quick parting pat to the dog's head, Marcus had departed the examination room leaving Jake alone with the slightly smiling veterinarian. The husky hadn't even had time to bark in surprise at the fox's back before he'd left.

Not missing a beat, the capybara got right into it.

"First things first, let's get you braced. I realize you're new to your new body and we don't want you falling off the table because your new form reacts in ways you didn't expect."

Jake wasn't sure what "bracing" entailed but he soon found out as the vet produced two pieces of equipment that were made out of strategically folded stainless steel. One was a bar with a collar-like metal ring in the center, which went around the husky's neck and forced him to stand in place with his head pointed towards the door. The other one was a simpler bar that went below his body just in front of his hips, forcing the canine to remain standing on the examination.

After the two bars were locked in place onto the table, the net result was that Jake couldn't move. With his neck held securely in place and his hips held up, he could neither turn, move, or sit. In other words, he was stuck.

And that's when the puppy felt the man's hand cup his genitals.

Jake yelped in surprise. The hand had not been announced in advance and he hadn't had time to mentally prepare for the invasive touch. Even more troubling, there was nothing "professional" or "medical" about the touch. Instead it felt queerly intimate, like the doctor was enjoying groping him.

"There there. It's all part of the examination. I told you you'd be in good hands, didn't I?"

The dog growled and tried to pull against the restraints but the secured metal bars were entirely unmovable. Meanwhile the perverted vet's hand had started to pull and tug at his still flaccid member. Jake wanted to shout for help but his throat refused to form the words.

"You seem confused, so allow me to explain. I'm required to collect both a blood and semen sample post-procedure to be fully confident that there will be no unexpected complications during your recovery period. So if you would, just do your best to cooperate and we'll get you off and on your way as soon as possible."

The flustered, upset twenty-one year old tried to tell the doctor that he had the right to refuse medical treatment, but again his altered vocal cords made that impossible. All he could do was stand there and tremble in anger and frustration as the doctor's hand formed a gently curled fist around his mostly limp rod and began to stroke him.

"You were floating in that vat for days, yes? You know, I used to be young too. I know how young boys get. Your balls are ready to bust, but you're too proud to admit it. If it makes you feel any better, please know that to me this is just another examination. I'm not some pervert who gets off on forcing helpless, pretty young things to cum."

But the way the man said it left no doubt that this was precisely what he was. That he knew it and that he knew that Jake knew it too. Just as he knew that there was nothing the husky could do about it.

"There you go. Starting to feel it now, aren't you? Give into your instincts. The longer you resist, the longer this takes."

Jake didn't want to give into this gross, unprofessional molestation but the capybara's ungloved hand seemed to know exactly what it was doing. Just how experienced was this man in forcing unwilling subjects to cum the husky wondered as he whined and squirmed.

"If it helps, think of some bitch with her tail raised right in front of you. Waiting on you to mount and claim her. To breed her full of puppies with your feral seed. Or maybe you'd prefer a boy-bitch? That would be fine too. Plenty of boy-bitches like that out in the world. Or perhaps that's what you are, Jake? Is the handsome husky a subby boy-bitch, looking to bend over for mister-right?"

The puppy felt a finger brush against his asshole and he went very still and quiet. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. He hoped desperately that Marcus could come back soon, not understanding that the fox had been watching from the observation room this entire time.

"No? My apologies. Sometimes a gentle touch there helps new puppies 'produce'. I'm guessing you're more of a stud then. It occurs to me that my talking might also be throwing you off, so I'll tell you what. I'll focus on milking you and you focus on cumming into the cup. We're very nearly done here, so just bear with me a few more minutes."

But rather than pump the husky's now fully erect shaft with a purpose, the vet's hand moved slowly and methodically as though he were trying to drag the whole sordid affair out. The capybara's hand moved like a well-oiled machine: never slowing down and never speeding up. It was a speed that was carefully calculated to eventually force the dog to cum but also to make it take as long as possible. And the metal bar beneath his hips meant that he couldn't even hump the hand to speed things along. Not that Jake wanted to give into the pervert's games.

Eventually he did reach the inevitable tipping point where his balls pulled up and nature began to take its course. Dr. Tanner held the plastic specimen cup below the squirting, swollen cockhead as it filled the container over a third full of white hot seed.

"And there we have it," the man declared victoriously. "Now I'll take a quick blood sample while you're recovering and you're all set. Thank you for being such a well behaved patient and I look forward to seeing to all your future health-related needs."

Fifteen minutes later and Jake was standing in the lobby, his once more flaccid shaft streaked with freshly spent cum because the doctor had "forgotten" to properly clean him. The dog was tired, shaken, and emotionally exhausted. He just wanted to go home and get away from this terrible place.

The latest indignity was that he was now leashed and collared, with Marcus holding the end of the leash. The husky had tried pulling the fox towards the exit but the man had patiently explained that he needed to pay and sign some final paperwork at the front desk.

Jake -- who would never speak again -- could only pant and roll his eyes in frustration. The dog did his best to angle his body in such a way that no one could see the cummy mess smeared against his underside. The lobby was only moderately busy but he still felt like everyone was looking at him.

Nearby there was another conversation taking place which the distracted pet only barely heard.

"Ms. Davis?" the female cheetah veterinary technician said, speaking to a nearby woman who was holding a leash of her own. "The doctor said that the extra large neuticles did manage to arrive in time, so you're welcome to bring Romeo into the patient room. We'll get started shortly."

The dog at the end of the leash was a huge newfoundland who looked about ready to piss himself in fear. Jake had barely even noticed the other sentient pet, so distracted was he with his own recent trauma and troubles.

"Oh good. I would have hated to have needed to reschedule. I made the mistake of mentioning this appointment to Romeo a few weeks ago and he's been a ball of anxiety ever since. I feel it's best to just get it done and over with so things can get back to normal."

Romeo looked up at the cheetah, a pleading expression upon his face. But while he might have appeared desperate, the puppy did not look especially hopeful. Rather, he had the somber countenance of a lifer prisoner who was getting ready to walk that final stretch of distance to the metaphorical electric chair.

Bizarrely, the newfoundland was fully erect as though his shaft was desperate to experience one last bit of action before his "live ones" were replaced with neuticles. No one seemed to pay the large, twitching thing any mind. Not even Jake noticed the frantically throbbing unit.

For his part, Marcus ground his teeth in frustration as he wrapped up the last bits of paperwork. This was his new dog's very first day and the boy had to be forcibly introduced to the idea that dogs like him had no right to bodily autonomy? The fox hated it when forces beyond his control impacted his training schedule.

Still, he noted that the shell-shocked husky didn't seem to be paying particularly close attention to the conversation, so he counted that as a lucky break. It wouldn't be the end of the world if Jake realized the truth before Marcus was ready to pull back the veil, but such unscripted developments might add an extra couple of months to the training schedule -- and time was money.

"Of course, ma'am," the cheetah said, gesturing for the female owner to follow her. "The doctor will be pleased to assist you in the matter. Will you be wanting to change Romeo's name, by the way? Given this... adjustment."

"Not at all. He still has his tongue, doesn't he? That was all he was good at anyway. And now he'll put in the time to become even better at it -- I'll see to that. But thank you for offering."

"As you say, Ma'am. Our customers are our number one priority."

No one took that to mean that the puppy was the veterinary technician's top priority. Especially not Romeo who was so fearful about what was to come that he moved like a robot on autopilot as he was led down the hall, his raging erection swinging in time with every step he took.

By the time Jake thought to pay attention to his surroundings the woman and her extremely unhappy dog were already gone behind the corner.

The word 'neuticles' had jumped out at him and stuck in his brain but the canine had no idea what 'neuticles' were. His immediate impulse was to look the term up online on his smartphone. Except, he no longer had a smartphone in his possession, nor the hands by which to operate it.

And he couldn't ask Marcus what the word meant because he couldn't talk. He couldn't even write the man a simple note. Later he could try to write the word in the dirt using his front paw, but would Marcus allow that? He didn't know for sure but he suspected not. The fox had made it clear that he was expected to act and behave as a "puppy" for the next two years and puppies didn't scratch notes in the dirt.

Being a four-legged pet would take some getting used to, he decided. Far more getting used to than he initially anticipated he thought, unaware that he was going to have the rest of his lifetime to grow accustomed to this new body.

After Marcus and Jake got home, the puppy did manage to "bounce back" from the stressful events at the vet's office. Indeed, within a day or so the husky had even managed to gas-light himself enough to believe that maybe he'd overreacted to the older capybara's "examination". Considering the drastic procedure he'd just undergone, it made sense that they'd want blood, tissue, and semen samples to ensure there were no lingering health concerns.

The canine chose to believe that Dr. Tanner was a mostly well-meaning man who just happened to have awful bedside manners. Which was almost expected from a vet, who never had to worry about a pet making a complaint or leaving an unhappy customer satisfaction survey. There was still a small voice in the back of Jake's head that insisted that he'd basically been raped by the older pervert but the boy pushed that though aside. He didn't want to think of himself as a victim.

As soon as they were back home the fox began his "charm offensive" against the puppy. Marcus very much wanted the dog to relax and be happy with his decision. Based on his years of previous experience, the middle-aged man knew things went easier if boys like Jake were eased into their new reality.

Yes, this "easing in" applied to getting college-aged males to go through with the procedure in the first place, but this fact also applied to the days and weeks immediately following the procedure. After all, future owners didn't want traumatized, neurotic basket-cases for pets. They wanted happy, obedient puppies who understood that it was always easier to obey an instruction or command than to hesitate or resist and be punished for it.

This thought made Marcus think back on two of his more recent puppies: Trent and Jonathan.

If the fox had approached Trent (who had been an aspiring soccer star) or Jonathan (who had already been accepted into a prominent college on a math scholarship) and had told them during their first encounter that he wanted to capture, transform, and sell them so that they could spend the rest of their life being sexually exploited by a rich man with a puppy-play fetish, Marcus had no doubt that they'd both run screaming. Though, perhaps the more athletic Trent would have opted to beat him down in the parking lot instead.

But instead, by playing it cool and taking things slow, both Trent (now Peaches) and Jonathan (now Rex) had sailed through the training process with flying colors and were now being looked after by caring masters who saw to all of their needs. Well... maybe not ALL of their needs.

The last thing Marcus had done before boxing the Peaches up for long-distance delivery was to lock the whimpering boy's cock into an extremely expensive, ultra-long-term, self-cleaning, permanent chastity device. Owners usually preferred to handle matters like this themselves but in Trent's case the puppy's new master asked the fox to handle this because in the man's own words, "I have no use for that particular part of the pup's anatomy, and I certainly have no wish to ever lay eyes on it."

But Marcus liked to think about how the dog would have reacted had he'd been told that permanent chastity was to be his fate immediately upon getting home from the transformation procedure. The prospective soccer star would have barked up a storm, likely also trying to bite and claw at the awful fox who had so disgracefully tricked him.

Only by gradually easing the two boys into their new reality had the puppy trainer been able to keep their respective "blow-outs" relatively minor. By the time Peaches and Rex understood what was going to happen to them, they knew the "rules of the road" and understood what the penalties were for disobedient or naughty behavior:

Going to bed without dinner; spending hours or even a full day in the deprivation hood; mild ball clamps; severe ball clamps; repugnant tasting mouth sprays; foul-smelling nostril sprays; extra sessions on the treadmill; sounding; extended orgasm denial, prepared meals replaced with dry dog food; moderately sized plug insertion; large sized plug insertion; extra-large sized plug insertion; being denied permission to go outside to pee; catheter and bladder-blocker insertions; ball weights; penis weights; gag-inducing deepthroating muzzles; being forced to stand with their nose pressed in the corner; and dozens of other disciplinary tricks Marcus had picked up over the years.

By ever-so-slowly introducing puppies to the concept of "the carrot and the stick" the conman had (for the most part) managed to avoid any true meltdowns or psychotic breaks or self-destructive doom spirals in the pets he sold. The fox did this by always remaining calm and level-headed and by making it consistently clear to the dogs in his care that things worked on a rational "cause and effect" system.

When they misbehaved ("cause") then there was a proportionally severe price that had to be paid ("effect"). It was a rational system. A logical system. An understandable and consistently enforced system.

Did any of the dogs like or enjoy this system? Of course not. No puppy enjoyed having several pounds of weight tied to the base of their sack only to be left to deal with it for the rest of the day. No pet liked being securely strapped down to an adjustable height table so that the fox could feed lubed, stainless steel rods down their erect shaft, one smoothed piece of metal after another. But that's why the punishments worked. Because the mental calculus was so easy.

Does the pup do as he's told and face a little discomfort or unpleasantness now? Or does he refuse to obey (or worse, rebel) and face terrible consequences later? A go-to move that Marcus liked to employ was to tell the disobedient pup that he needed some time to consider their punishment after they refused to obey an instruction. The awful, soul-crushing dread these words manifested in the in-training dogs was almost a worse punishment than what would actually come next.

Jonathan, the once promising mathematician, would get so worked up at having to wait to hear what the displeased fox decided that he started to literally piss himself when Marcus would cross his arms and shake his head, disapproval clear on his face. This actually proved to be a bit of a headache for the man because no owner wants their pet pissing all over the carpet because they made a single mistake or accidently knocked over a vase.

But despite how effective the carrot-and-stick methodically was, Marcus specifically opted not to employ it for the first three weeks of a canine's new life as a four-legged puppy.

As with past pets (or "products" as the fox occasionally thought of them), Marcus gave Jake three full weeks to enjoy and embrace life as a four-legged puppy before introducing any real training. The fox thought of this "honeymoon period" as a gift he gave to boys who were naïve, incautious, and greedy enough to give themselves over to him. The man viewed this weeks-long period as a glimpse at the life they could have had, had selling their bitch ass on the open market not been worth so much money. And this cute, big-dicked husky was definitely going to make him a lot of money.

During those three weeks, the fox did almost everything he could think of to make the start of their puppy journey magical for the boys. He'd done this for Trent, for Jonathan, and now he was doing it for Jake. Not only did it probably actually speed up the training process in the long run, giving the dogs a few weeks of happiness felt like the right thing to do.

And Marcus didn't have a problem with his puppies being happy. It was just that, whenever a customer's happiness was put up against a dog's happiness, the customer would always win. They were the ones paying for all this, after all.

However, there were a few things Marcus didn't do for a newly transformed boy, even during this "honeymoon period". For example, he no longer served the dog any form of alcoholic drinks. Secondly, handjobs became the only form of sexual release that he provided to the confused, grumpy husky (who sorely missed the wonderful blowjobs the fox used to provide but now inexplicably wouldn't). Also, the man refused to engage the four-legged lad in conversation. Marcus didn't even ask Jake "yes or no" questions that the boy would have easily been able to respond to.

This last bit was especially maddening and problematic for the husky because without Marcus' help in this area, he had no way of making his thoughts, wishes, or preferences known. Aside from body language and dog-like vocalizations, which the man deliberately ignored. When the fox had explained that he'd temporarily lose his capacity for speech, the twenty-one year old had assumed that that man would compensate for this by regularly checking in with him through other, less convenient means. Perhaps simple questions like, asking him if he'd like a certain dish for dinner, checking to see if he was in the mood for sex, and a thousand other yes-or-no inquiries.

But even though the gentle, smiling man doted on his new puppy, the constant positive attention never manifested as anything approaching an actual exchange of information or ideas. In fact, when the husky would get frustrated and bark in irritation the man would patiently chide him and threaten him with a "time out" if he kept being an "impolite puppy".

What this meant when it came to handjobs was that it was Marcus and Marcus alone that decided when the doggie got off. Jake thought this was mostly harmless and a bit kinky, in the beginning. It actually amused him that the rich fox would invite him to roll onto his back only for the man to squirt some lube onto his hand and declare that it was time to "milk the puppy".

Jake was usually more than happy to play along and get jerked off, but there were a couple of times in those early weeks that made him wonder if he'd perhaps surrendered too much control or hadn't spent enough time going over ground rules with the fox. Once when Marcus had come home late in the AM, the unmistakable stench of alcohol on his breath. He'd woken the surprised canine up with a firmer than usual stroking motion while saying, "Wakey wakey, pup. Daddy's gonna pump a juicy one out of you. Got a schedule to keep, yeah?"

The young man didn't know what the boozed-up man meant by this and wasn't really in the mood to have his privates played with. But aside from a surprised yip he wasn't exactly in a position to resist or protest. Being young and virile, it didn't take him long to get into the mood as the mumbling, dirty-talking fox forced him to cum in less than ten minutes. The handjob had actually felt great -- Jake just wished it hadn't been forced upon him. The experience was a bit too similar to what he'd gone through at the vet's office at the hands of that debauched capybara, Dr. Tanner.

The second occasion that caused Jake to fret was the time when he was laying on his back on the carpet in the middle of the living room, having just been stroked off to a powerful climax by the man. Yet Marcus went right on stroking him. Having just cum his member was suddenly ultra-sensitive but when he'd tried to roll over and get his feet the fox held him in place with a firm but insistent hand pressed against his chest.

"Let's try for two this time, yeah?" was all the man said as he started pumping firmer and faster over Jake's non-verbal protests. As always Marcus got his way, but it took almost another thirty minutes of intense, determined stroking. And Jake wouldn't realize until hours later but not once did the fox even glance at his face to see how he was coping. The smiling fox only had eyes for his throbbing, twitching, once-spent cock as though it were a favored toy rather than attached to a sentient person.

The canine didn't realize it yet but the man had already stopped thinking of him as a thinking, feeling person. The fox wasn't so detached and callous as to view Jake as an emotionless robot but neither did he consider the dog to be his peer or equal. Marcus was no longer concerned with the puppy's emotional state as he was the dog's behavior and attitude.

Forced to shoot a second time basically against his will, Jake was getting pissed off at the man. But the silver-tongue fox disarmed the tension quickly with some well-timed praise as he cleaned up the husky's cummy mess.

"You did so well, Jake! Not one but two impressive orgasms. I'm so pleased with you, boy. Those balls of yours must feel especially drained, huh? We'll give them a nice long break before the next milking. We're going to a private beach tomorrow and I'll let them recover so you can make another puppy mess all over the sand while you watch the waves come in. I promise you, it will be a memory to treasure."

That said, as much as Jake tended to focus on it and obsess over it, sex (or at least, sexual activity) was more of a minor thing for those first weeks of Jake's new life. The masturbation sessions tended to be quick and spontaneous, and that left plenty of time for everything else. In fact, if anything it was a bit TOO quick for the husky's taste. Where was the fucking! The sucking! The sex toys, foreplay, and pornos! When was the fox finally going to bend over, get on all fours, and let the dog get in there and BREED him?!

What Jake failed to understand was that Marcus had no interest in having actual sex with him -- neither giving nor receiving. He understood that his customers' opinions very much differed from him own on this, but he wasn't especially turned on by the idea of fucking a pet dog. And the thought of letting the husky mount and fuck him didn't even enter into his head. Had Jake been capable of suggesting this to the fox, the man would have laughed derisively at the notion. Him? Get fucked by a puppy? Absolutely absurd, he would have exclaimed.

Had Marcus strongly implied during the "wooing" phase that Jake would be allowed to mount and breed him? Certainly he had. But the conman would have promised the husky that he'd lasso and bring down the moon if that would have gotten the dog to the point where he was ready to sign the contract. Now that the boy was safely in his pocket, Marcus wasn't going to let the canine anywhere near his hole -- with the possible exception of punishing the dog by making him thoroughly rim his vulpine trainer out.

The primary reason he gave pro-forma handjobs to puppies foolish enough to get caught up in his web was that it played into his carrot-and-stick system of training. The fox wanted the handsome dog to get used to regularly blowing his load so that he could later dial back the amount of sexual pleasure and release he gave the puppy. At which point, he'd make the confused, horny boy work hard to earn each one of the orgasms to follow until his training was complete and he was finally sold off.

A college-age boy like Jake would put in a good deal of effort to be fed, or to avoid being punished, or to stay on the fox's good side. But they would move heaven and earth to earn an orgasm after being kept needy and denied for days on end. So the dog trainer knew that the more the husky came to expect and look forward to the handjobs, the easier things would go once the training got "real".

The secondary reason for giving out a generous number of early orgasms was, despite how easily he'd adjust to viewing Jake as little more than an animal, the fox thought he owed the good looking husky a few weeks of harmless pleasure before the truth of the situation became self-evident. This noble spirit of generosity was compounded by the knowledge that there was no telling what the canine's future owner would decide in terms of reproductive or sexual rights.

Like other segments of the population, the people who chose to indulge in this level of pet play had diverse views on what activities were and were not appropriate for a former person. Being a trainer himself and not a full time pet owner, Marcus wasn't as "plugged into" that world, especially as compared against the idle rich -- many of which had actually grown up with one or more trained "pets" in the house. A notion that actually amazed the fox, despite how jaded he generally felt about his own "industry".

Marcus tried to think what it would be like to be a hormonal teenager with absentee parents and have a trained, submissive puppy in the house. The fox could only assume that those dogs went to sleep with a sore ass each and every day of the week until the boys finally left for college.

This was actually a good portion of the point, the trainer knew. Keeping a male pet (or a spayed female pet) in the house avoided pregnancy scares and prevented eighteen and nineteen year olds from sneaking out at night to get up to who knows what. And of course it was an open secret that the parents used the pets for their own pleasure as well.

The trainer remembered one boy -- an irish wolfhound named Zoomy -- whose owners (a couple of married thirty-something fennecs) had wanted him trained to hold a light-weight, gyro-stabilized camera in his mouth while he filmed the man and woman having sex. Marcus had found the request to be both utterly absurd and uniquely delightful. Towards the end of the dog's training, the fox had taught him camera work basics such as framing, panning, angles and perspective, steady movements, close-ups, medium-shots, and where to focus.

The dog seemed skeptical about the necessity for learning such techniques but came around to the idea when he realized that not a single additional orgasm would be granted until he demonstrated mastery (or at least commendable competency) in the various fundamentals. At which point the puppy became quite dedicated to the idea of proving his skills in this area.

The foxes had been absolutely thrilled with the final result. They recounted to Marcus how happy they were to have a competent "camera man" whose discretion could be assured. And while they wouldn't divulge any bedroom secrets to the fox, they revealed that they got up to some "unconventional acts" that they didn't want their local country club finding out about and that the trained puppy addressed these concerns perfectly.

The wife did let slip that if they were especially happy or impressed with the dog's work, they'd allow the pet to join in on their next marital tryst -- the dog fucking and getting fucked at the same time as he was sandwiched between the lovers. The wife also implied that on special occasions they'd let the dog take turns mounting both of them, but the embarrassed husband hushed his partner before she spilled the tea on their entire sex life.

The fox thought this was an interesting twist of fate for the shy boy whose one and only aspiration had been to become a librarian when the conman had gotten ahold of him. Now he was an exclusively contracted, uniquely compensated camera man. Quite a different career path indeed.

Marcus told the couple that he was pleased to be of service and guaranteed them that Zoomy would never breathe a word to anyone regarding their behind-closed-doors passions. A year later the fox received a very interesting holiday postcard from the family. In it, when the fox looked closely he could just make out the golden gleam of a third wedding band -- this one just behind the paw-pad of the irish wolfhound. A puppy who looked strangely dignified as he proudly held his chin up for the photo.

"Mounting them both indeed," the amazed fox had murmured to himself as he double and triple checked the photo to ensure he was seeing what he thought he saw. "Way to go, Donny." (Which had been the Zoomy's original name)

The doggie trainer had no way of knowing for sure, but after seeing that photo he suspected that Zoomy had won the puppy lottery. Vanishingly few people treated puppies like people, let alone elevated them to the level of being considered as part of the marriage.

Then again, Marcus couldn't say for sure what the golden ring meant. He supposed it could mean anything, despite raising some very interesting questions. In the end he decided to keep his nose out of it and not follow up. He had enough on his plate without trying to keep track of previously sold products.

That was, until he realized that there was a non-zero chance that they might restore the puppy's ability to speak. An act which could have untold consequences, for him especially. This unpleasant thought made Marcus reach out to the couple, where he broached the thorny topic as diplomatically as he could.

Mercifully the fennecs took no offense and informed him that they had no intention of changing Zoomy's status as a puppy. The far-more-talkative wife informed him that they had made the decision to grant the dog a degree of authority and power in the bedroom, but that they remained in control everywhere else. The embarrassed husband confirmed that while the dog had become the "bull" in their relationship (consigning him to the status of "cuckold" the fox saw, reading between the lines), they were just as careful and cautious as before about keeping their private lives private.

"He may own my pussy," the woman admitted, an undercurrent of lust clear in her voice, "but at the end of the day I still have to look my neighbors in the eye. Despite how much we both love Zoomy, there are some risks we just can't take. He's our bull and our puppy, but... You understand what I'm getting at?"

Marcus felt immensely relieved as he concluded the call while wishing the couple all the happiness in the world. At the same time he shook his head as he hung up the phone. The world was filled with some truly strange people he considered, both amused and annoyed.

He wondered how Zoomy felt about the whole arrangement. The way the dog held both a position of privilege and power in their three-way relationship while also being thoroughly subordinate and controlled. Did Donny find this fulfilling? Frustrating? Exasperating? Did it drive him crazy that he could make the husband and wife bend over to take his cock while at the same time he couldn't so much as get a message out to his former family and friends? Did he feel powerful? Powerless? Both?

Thankfully the answers to these questions really didn't matter, as far as the fox was concerned. As long as Marcus didn't experience any blowback from the couple's weird sex games, the rest was immaterial.

A week after that awkward phone call, the trainer received an email with no subject line. Clicking into it, he saw that there was one short paragraph of text with an attached picture. It read:

Zoomy wanted me to send you this (I asked and he barked yes). For your eyes only. Don't tell my husband. He doesn't know that I've been taking pictures when bull uses him.

In the picture was a male fennec who was bound on his hands and knees in a bondage frame that had been setup on the ground. Straps all over his body held him in place and helped support his weight, but it didn't look like he was getting up or getting out of that frame without help. The man wore a leather hood without eye holes which hid his identity, though it did have two holes for his large fennec ears to poke out from the top. On the forehead of the black leather hood was large white text which read CUCKOLD.

The leather hood was complete with a silicone mouth gag which had a forward-facing hole shaped like a pussy. That silicon pussy-gag was absolutely drenched in cum. There was so much of it that it flowed down the front of the mask, until it gathered and dripped from the tired husband's hooded chin. The image strongly implied that if there was that much seed clinging to the front of the hood and gag, then a great deal more had been pumped and thrust into the mouth waiting on the other side.

As for whose cum that was, the photo made no attempt to hide this. Zoomy stood on all fours directly adjacent to the fennec whose mouth he'd just finished breeding. His plainly visible erection was still hard, hanging from between his hind legs and likewise drenched in cum. The member wasn't giant but neither was it small. In other words, there was ample meat there for a bound fennec to choke on. There was even a tenuous, arching string of seed that still connected the cock and the gag. The cock that had just finished feeding the cuck a belly full of puppy cum.

The irish wolfhound stared right at the camera. Proud. Defiant. Challenging. As if daring the viewer to tell him this male fennec wasn't his bitch. And in this photo the wedding band on his paw was clearly visible. This was a bull reaffirming his unquestioned dominance over his cuckold. And those hungry eyes and the still-full erection made it clear who was next on his list.

Because the puppy wasn't looking at the camera lens, Marcus realized. He was staring at the woman holding the camera. And those weren't the eyes of a dog who was tired or satisfied. They were the eyes of a sexual animal. A "bull". Whatever Donny had become, it was clear that the door that might have once led him down the path of "shy, introverted librarian" was now firmly closed to him.

But there was only one element to the photo that strongly indicated to Marcus that the husband was indeed unaware that this photo had been taken. Around the bound, gagged, hooded fennec's neck hung a lanyard. And at the end of that lanyard was the man's photo ID, complete with smiling picture, full name, date of birth, and other sensitive information.

The trainer realized that this wasn't just a harmless intimate picture. This picture was an undetonated bomb waiting to go off. And if the wife spoke true, the husband was clueless that this photo even existed. He probably hadn't even noticed her hang the lanyard around his hooded neck.

Suddenly Marcus had a clear mental image of the women getting fucked by her "bull" of an irish wolfhound. Of her cumming around his thick canine cock as she got off on the risk and the humiliation and the danger while her cum-swallowing husband stayed stuck, tied-up nearby -- able to hear but unable to speak or intervene. In his mind's eye he saw her being put in her place by the four-legged puppy. The man wondered if the husband knew what a kinky, crazy bitch he'd married. But by this point, he had to figure the man knew only too well. Hopefully her kind of crazy worked for him.

The fox, who could never imagine bending over for a puppy, wasn't sure what to say or how to reply. A couple of minutes later he closed the email (opting not to delete it) and muttered aloud, "It takes all kinds, I suppose. Hey, their check cleared so as long as they're happy, I'm happy."

He wouldn't have even known where to begin training a puppy to perform that role in a household. But apparently the husband and wife had handled that aspect of his training all on their own.

Or maybe Zoomy was somehow training them now? Marcus wondered how that would work, with the dog not having the capacity for speech. Ultimately he decided not to follow-up and ask. He reminded himself of his professional detachment once a sale had been made and turned his attention back to current matters.

And so his recollections of Zoomy brought the trainer's focus back to Jake.

He found himself wondering what his future owner would think of the husky's male appendage? Well, that was anyone's guess. (Except for the boy, who had only begun to suspect that something might be "off" about his voluntary term of service as an altered pet.) Some owners would ignore Jake's penis entirely, counting on the puppy's training not to embarrass them by humping furniture or guest's legs. Others would cage it, keeping the handsome young man's arousal out of sight and out of the way in a traditionally restrictive fashion. Others would have it surgically removed, either entirely (turning Jake into a "null") or by a practice referred to as "docking" which would reduce it to a few scant inches of its former glory -- too short to do anything with except perpetually shame and embarrass him.

And still a few others would choose to convert the boy's perfectly healthy male parts into expertly sculpted female parts, turning "him" into "her" (irrespective of how "she" felt about it). Indeed, some owners who chose to go this route didn't bother to explain or warn their puppies in advance of the procedure, resulting in an unpleasant surprise for the owned bitches who woke post operation with cunts, breasts, and more feminine faces. This major change would often be accompanied soon after by the naming ceremony, where the puppy would inevitably be told they were now "Princess", "Sugar", "Missy", or some such.

Finally, as he'd just been reminded of by the fennec couple, there were people out there who were happy to make full use of the husky's shaft. Men and women both delighted in the idea of sexually submitting to their own pet. So, there was really no guessing what might become of Jake in this regard. Other than, whatever happened wouldn't be Jake's choice.

Marcus, being the experienced professional he was, understood that what happened to the puppies after they left his care wasn't any of his business. If the future owner wanted the pet's privates docked, or removed, or caged, or whatever, then that was the boy's lot in life. On the other hand, since he was keenly aware that the orgasms he altruistically granted the boys during training might very well be the last climaxes of their life, he didn't mind being a little extra generous with the handjobs -- especially during the early days, before expectations grew and things became "real" and "serious" for the pups.

Which also meant that the fox didn't feel the least bit guilty about forcing orgasms on his pets. They were always young, twenty-something no-nothings, whereas he was the adult in the room. If he decided it was time for them to surrender their ball juice to his insistent pumping, then that was what was going to happen. Their opinion or feelings on the subject was rather immaterial. Besides, it was fun to watch them squirm and buck as he stroked and squeezed their doggie bits to wet, shuddering climaxes.

The fox had captured and trained many dogs over his twenty-year-plus "pet training" career (which meant he'd been at this longer than Jake had been alive) and there tended to be a wide variety in how the boys reacted to having their cocks involuntarily worked until they spewed. The canines who were more naturally shy or timid tended to just make dismayed or scandalized faces as they let it happen. On average these youths adapted the fastest and made for some of the most obedient pets, once training was complete.

On the other end of the spectrum were the "it's never too late for second thoughts" jocks who immediately regretted giving up their ability to speak, stand up, grab things, or control the situation. These boys were the hardest to train since they tend to resist each and every step along the way. But Marcus actually found he enjoyed working with this sort of "former alpha dog" the most. There was just something so indescribably satisfying about making a one-time macho jock spew their thick cum again, and again, and again until their output was as watery and weak as their swiftly-faltering will to resist. And if they barked too much while their bone was played to the point where it was only capable of experiencing dry orgasms? Well, that's what extra-long penis gags were for.

Jake fell somewhere in between these two extremes. Marcus was pleased that the gorgeous husky didn't just roll over and surrender right out of the gate. At the same time, the young man didn't fight back when he was forced to cum twice in a row. Sure, the boy had tried to pull away, but all it took was a firm but gentle grip around the base of the lad's balls to get him to settle down and accept the even-more-intense second go at his hyper-sensitive stalk.

The fox could see in the boy's eyes that the husky still thought of this as a game. As an extended session of roleplay and make believe. Even after being repeatedly made to cum "against his will" Jake still had unshakable confidence that he'd be returned to his bipedal form upon the promised time, his bank account full and his future secured. Marcus could see that the husky didn't instinctively think of himself as a "victim". The handsome, hung boy was an optimist and liked to see the best in people.

The fox thought that was an endearing trait. He also believed it to be a painfully naïve notion. Here he was, repeatedly raping Jake (because, what else would you call it, to force someone to cum again and again against their will?) and the kind-hearted youth still thought this was "business as usual" instead of "holy fuck, no one knows where I am and this crazy is fox is treating my dog dick like its his own personal cum factory!". The faith the husky placed in him was cute, in a dumb, idiotic way.

Marcus found himself liking the boy. There was something so intrinsically good-natured about the husky that the fox almost extended the honeymoon period an extra week. But ultimately he decided, no. He had deadlines to keep and training goals to meet. And while it might tug on his virtually non-existent heart strings to shatter Jake's tremendous faith in him, it was going to happen sooner or later so he might as well keep to the schedule.

No boy got through this process without hating and fearing him by the end. That was just part of the business of being a puppy trainer. Because doggies weren't the customers: They were the product.

Still, he tried to make that "final day" at the end of the third week as special for Jake as possible. He took the puppy out to the woods for an hour-long hike, knowing that the dog couldn't be trusted with this level of freedom once the training became "difficult". He cooked and prepared Jake's favorite food and even served the puppy a milkshake in a food bowl (which was likely to be the very last milkshake the husky would enjoy in his life, because who would serve such a thing to a pup?). And then to top it off, he granted the boy a glorious, memorable orgasm -- and not with this hand. Though, also not with his mouth or ass as the husky surely would have preferred.

Rather, the fox used a well-lubed, fresh out of the box fleshlight at the conclusion of that perfect, peaceful day. Now more animal than person, Jake couldn't speak but if he could he might have babbled his gratitude while at the same time urging the fox to please, please, please stroke him faster as Marcus spent the better part of an hour building up to the juicy, explosive finale as Jake lay twitching and panting on his back, paws curled in the air.

Then, reminding himself that he had a job to do, the fox took a few pictures. A half-hard cummed-out pup laying sprawled out on a picnic blanket in the middle of the woods would make for a great marketing photo. The husky barked at him a couple of times as the fox snapped pictures but there was nothing the dog could do about it. It took Marcus less than half a minute to take a good number of photos which he'd sift through later.

On that final evening of the honeymoon period, Jake found himself content with his decision to become this rich, eccentric man's temporary pet. The powerful orgasm had quieted his earlier misgivings and he was confident that he could get through two more years of this, in return for being "set" for the rest of his life.

They returned home and, stretched out over the fox's lap (who was occupied by gently petting him while watching TV), Jake indulged himself by fantasizing about what he might buy with his newfound wealth. A new car, certainly. But more than that, a nice home. And furniture! And a computer and a laptop and a shopping cart of other tech, to fill his new home. It was going to be great, he knew. Truly great.

Though, he'd never be able to properly explain to people just how he'd been able to afford this new-and-improved lifestyle. That thought of that made him blush anew as Marcus pet and stroked his head and back fur.

Jake fantasized about this idealized future only because he had not realized the truth. That there was no two million dollars waiting for him. That he would never regain his ability to walk on two legs, or speak, or make decisions for himself. The husky did not understand that he was already owned property. But he would soon because he had just experienced his very last unearned climax. Never again would Jake experience sexual release -- forced or otherwise -- "just because". Instead, starting from that point on, he would be expected to put in a tremendous amount of effort to earn even a single additional squirt.

But Marcus knew. The fox understood only too well that even if Jake lucked into being bought and paid for by an exceptionally generous master, that the husky would still spend most of his time in a state of severe sexual frustration. It was pet-owning 101 to make a puppy work hard for their "treats" and this rule had very few exceptions in the pet-lover world (with Zoomy being a notable exception to this rule, apparently). But for that blissful night on the couch just before bedtime Jake was fully satisfied, unaware that his balls wouldn't feel "fully satisfied" like this again for a good long while.

Come the next morning, the husky woke up somewhat surprised that the fox wasn't already "attacking" his morning hardon. But that was fine, he told himself. Based on what he'd experienced for the last few weeks, he was sure that Marcus would corner him eventually, pumping an orgasm out of him whether he was excited about the idea or not.

Aside from that oddity (which Jake had conflicting feelings about), not everything immediately changed on the first day of the fourth week. But there were enough things that were subtly different that the husky lost the peace of mind he'd experienced just the day before as he became increasingly unsettled by the "minor" changes.

First, Marcus didn't enthusiastically greet him like he was a returning hero when he came down for breakfast. This was fine with the dog because he preferred a more casual, relaxed atmosphere early in the day, right after waking. But again, it was different and it bothered him that he couldn't put his "finger" on why this might be the case.

After that, there were some less pleasant discoveries. Like the fact that his breakfast plate had been replaced with a cheap, plastic dog bowl. The dog bowl was red and on the side in large white letters it read "BB". Jake had no idea what BB meant and lacked the ability to ask. All he could do was offer up a soft bark of confusion towards the bowl, which Marcus simply pretended not to hear.

The husky barked again, louder and more irritated, and the fox made a mental note to break the puppy of that bad habit sooner rather than later. Well behaved pets were quiet pets. At least, unless their owner wanted them to whimper and howl as they were fucked hard by the cock that dominated their life. That thought made Marcus smile to himself, his gaze still focused on the kitchen counter where he prepared his own breakfast. He bet Jake would be an excellent moaner, once properly trained to take whatever he was given.

But the dog wasn't ready to train with porn-star-thick dildos yet. The initial lessons the trainer had planned were far more mundane than, "learn to ignore the burning pain coming from your stretched-wide hole as you press yourself back on your owner's fully erect, eagerly waiting shaft." Like the dogs before him, Marcus had every intention of training Jake to be a proper doggie slut -- to always prioritize his owner's pleasure above his own -- but they had yet to lay the ground for the boy to understand that he was a four-legged, mobile breeding toy.

Marcus prided himself on training and selling the best "feral" companions money could buy. Loyal, obedient snuggle-buddies that were equally well suited for in-home use or for taking out on a camping trip for companionship and more intimate "personal needs". Dogs so well behaved that you could trust your kids around them.

And there was something magical about turning an angry, frustrated, and scared dog into a well-disciplined pet who was a trusted and loved member of the family.

This thought made Marcus think of another pet he had trained: Fluffy-Butt the bull terrier, who Marcus had sold a few years back.

At the time of training, the fox had no idea who the twenty-three year old puppy would eventually be sold to, or what his owner's regular needs might look like. But because of Fluffy-Butt's stellar training, the once "straight" boy (who ended up being highly money-motivated, IE, gay-for-pay) to a lovely equine couple who enjoyed camping, hiking, long walks on the beach, and aggressively spit-roasting cute puppies who were trained to accommodate their impressive members.

Did Fluffy-Butt the former fitness trainer want to become the well hung couple's go-to toy for relieving sexual tension? Probably not, especially considering that was the "prize" the boy received in lieu of the promised two million dollars. But the pup's top-tier conditioning allowed him to seamlessly transition to a life of getting fucked every day, multiple times a day, despite the dog's strong reservations about both horses and homosexuals.

The bull terrier had trembled slightly as the two men -- his future owners -- introduced not only themselves, but their thick equine cocks to the once straight pet. Standing in the entryway of the house, they made Fluffy-Butt nuzzle and lick their huge erections as they promised to provide him with the "daily attention a slut like him so clearly craved." But the two men weren't cruel or heartless. As they pet and patted him, they promised him that he'd be the world's happiest puppy -- as long as he worked tirelessly to keep them satisfied.

As one of the horse's clipped a leash on the boy's collar and led him out of the door, the dog gave Marcus one last look over his shoulder. And while the dog couldn't speak, after spending months training the lad Marcus could read his expressions like a book. That look said, "Please don't let these perverted gay men take me away. Please don't let them fuck me with their massive horse dicks while I gag and groan, unable to do anything but stand there on all fours and take it. Please don't let this be my life!"

But Fluffy-Butt was bought and paid for and there was nothing Marcus could do for the boy now that the money transfer had gone through. More than that: There was nothing the fox wanted to do for the boy. The bull terrier might not have ended up where he wanted to be, but he did end up where he should be. And that was, speared between the mens' throbbing members.

It was a position that the fox thought was perfect for the boy who had been a bit crassly spoken and blatantly racist (mostly towards horses, for whatever reason) until Marcus had drilled into him the importance of being compliant, obedient, and accommodating to whoever ended up owning him. (And yes, that included "dirty, good for nothing, job-stealing" horses)

Marcus had waved goodbye to the forlorn dog as he advised, "You're in good hands, Fluffy-Butt. Remember your training and things will work out in the end, I promise. These two fine men will take excellent care of you, so just do whatever they say and don't make a fuss."

A second later the door closed behind the trio and Marcus never heard from them again -- with the exception of a single email which was sent months later. This email read:

*Marcus, me and my husband (we recently got married!) wanted to thank you for selling us our lovely puppy. Fluffy-Butt needed a fair amount of time to settle in (the way he acted, you'd think licking up spent horse cum was a war crime!), but he's long since accepted the way of things and has become an irreplaceable part of our family. In fact, he's gotten so good at reading our moods he'll start nuzzling my crotch soon after pulse has started to quicken. Maybe it's a dog thing and he's detecting a scent in the air? Regardless, thanks again for everything. I'm so glad our friend recommended you for our pet needs! (My friend still loves his Princess Cummies, btw. Though, he's since had her docked and permanently caged, so the name has become a touch ironic.) *

*Also, I included a couple pictures which I thought you might get a kick out of. An out of town friend came by and brought this shirt. We showed it to Fluffy-Butt before things got too heated. You should have seen his reaction! He was so nervous, you'd have thought it was his first day at the house all over again. But we used the advice you gave us when we bought Fluffy-Butt and everything worked out fine. I'm paraphrasing, but I think it was: Be patient, use lots of lube, and don't take "no" for an answer. It was great advice then and it still holds up today! My husband enjoyed the experiment so much that I think we'll be double-stuffing the pup on a regular basis going forward -- and I don't mean spit-roasting. *

Included in the email were two photos -- a "before" and an "after." The "before" featured a very nervous Fluffy-Butt sitting up at the feet of three pantsless, very aroused horses (whose faces weren't included in the picture as their shoulders reached the top of the image). In the picture the dog wore an ill-fitting, slightly too big black-text-on-white-fabric shirt which read:

I TOOK THREE HORSES AT ONCE AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STUPID T-SHIRT

The shirt went a long way towards explaining the bull terrier's anxious expression as he looked up at the camera. His face told the story that perhaps he was begging or hoping for help, but was not genuinely expecting any to manifest. It was the face of a once proud canine who had taken A LOT of horse cock over the prior months.

And then there was the second photo.

This was clearly the "after" photo, as not only was Fluffy-Butt sprawled out on his back covered in a large amount of cum, but the panting, exhausted dog's seed-soaked rear entrance appeared stretched so wide that one might have assumed he'd been fisted, had the t-shirt not so clearly spelled out what had just happened to him. Also featured in the photo were three hands giving a thumbs-up in front of the camera, though the horses' bodies and faces were not in frame. The dog was still wearing the silly t-shirt which now had a good number of wet streaks from all the recently spent horse jizz.

It was these memories of Fluffy-Butt that was making Marcus smile as he focused on preparing Jake's breakfast. The fox didn't know who or where the husky would end up post training, but he always hoped for happy endings like the bull terrier's. He felt no ill will towards the boy and very much wanted the clueless "straight" puppy to find a loving, welcoming family. A family that understood the dog's true value and who would make him feel used and useful each and every day of his life.

Whether or not that included any doggie orgasms in Blue-Balls' future... Well, Marcus was ambivalent about that. He didn't name Blue-Balls (or "BB" for short) this with the intention of attracting an owner who was enticed by the idea of cum control, edging, and denial. It was just that to him the husky LOOKED like a "Blue-Balls". The name felt right for the big dicked boy. And besides, it was every pet owner's right to rename their new puppy, after they took ownership. BB might be "Blue-Balls" today, but half a year from now he could be Rex, or Trotter, or whatever.

At the same time, if Jake did attract a master who was extra strict in this regard, Marcus was fine with that too. As long as the wire transfer cleared. That was the most important thing. Whether Blue-Balls would ever be permitted to cum again was so low on the list of considerations that it didn't even merit thinking about. Not once had Marcus ever inquired as to the prospective owner's future plans for a pet's genitals. It simply never occurred to him to ask.

Asking about what would happen to a pet's cock was about as interesting as asking about what shampoo brand they planned to use or how thorough they planned to be when they gave the pet an enema. Though some customers chose to volunteer this information, and that was fine. He was a businessman, after all, and it paid to feign interest when customers gushed on and on about something as trivial as a pet's balls or penis.

When customer's asked for his advice in this area, his recommendation was always the same: Purchase a top-of-the-line long-term chastity cage, set it to randomly edge and tease the pet at a low setting during waking hours, lock the pet up for a good long while, and then forget about it. A few months of this and any intact pet will become an enthusiastic, ever-ready sexy time playmate. There's nothing more satisfying than coming home after a long day at work and seeing your pet so eager for a good hard fuck that they're practically trembling in need.

Bonus points if the owner could manage to make the pet squirt while getting fucked, still soft in their permanent cage. It wasn't a big deal if that didn't happen, but it was precisely these types of incentives that made a puppy go from reluctant, to willing, to eager, and so on until they finally fell in love with their owner -- all without being permitted a single erection.

Most owners didn't take him up on this advice, which was perfectly fine and didn't bother the fox at all. But those who did tended to have a pet who was deep into puppy-love with them in less than a year. Like that poodle twink who took possession of that muscle-bound, four-legged cane corso. That dog absolutely hated his petite master for the first few months. But the poodle -- an elegant if somewhat frail gentleman by the name of Cecil -- was smart enough to take Marcus' advice and permanently lock up that pup's substantial, fertile bone. (Which had already been used to father no less than three children at the age of twenty-six)

When Marcus saw the two of them again a year and a half later in person, "Tank" was literally eating out of Cecil's hand while looking lovingly up at the poodle. When the fox commented on Tank's heavy, low hanging balls the owner laughed and responded that the dog found it "challenging" to cum just from being topped. Still, the puppy seemed to manage it two or three times a year and became embarrassingly grateful to his owner for the assistance in helping him spill several months' worth of seed.

What was even more impressive to Marcus was that Tank came over and rested his large head on the fox's thigh, the puppy looking up at his former trainer with fond eyes. As the man pet the dog's head while continuing to make small talk with the somewhat insufferable poodle (who was droning on about the dozens of pet tricks he'd taught Tank over the months), Marcus thought he saw something in the dog's eyes that he rarely saw from one of his trained puppies:

Gratitude.

Tank was happy here, he realized. Happy to be owned and controlled. Happy to be made to do tricks for the effete poodle. Happy to be caged and commanded and fucked by this silly man. Which was such a contrast to the "alpha male" that had nearly exhausted Marcus' bag of tricks for correcting a puppy.

But he supposed that dog had their place, and this one was Tank's. Because while the fox couldn't say he understood it or saw the appeal, Tank loved his master. The cane corso was the poodle's bitch and the former alpha male wouldn't have it any other way.

Marcus shook his head and returned to the task at hand: Preparing his own food while intentionally making BB wait to eat.

As the fox ate, he decided on his "plan of attack." He considered where Jake was at right at that moment and where he would need to be by the end of training. And then Marcus settled on what the first few days of this path would look like as he gradually turned the screws while introducing the boy to his new life of non-personhood.

"Okay, boy," the fox said, his smile gone and his body language hard and uncompromising. "Let's get started."

What happened next was that Jake was introduced to "Marcus the trainer" as "Marcus the sweet-talking conman" took a backseat.

The next many months were brutal for Jake. Every breach in "puppy protocol" was spotted and punished. Every bit of attitude or side-eye was noted and redressed. Without explicitly addressing or explaining the overnight change in expectations, Marcus made clear that there were new rules-of-the-road and that "BB" would either comply or suffer.

What was immediately clear to the young man was that this was no fun or light-hearted. Being "trained" wasn't an enjoyable experience and the fox didn't even do him the tiny courtesy of acknowledging aloud that there had been a shift -- the mother of all rug-pulls. All of a sudden the boy was being punished: Slapped, paddled, berated, sent to bed without dinner, and a great deal more besides. And over time the punishments got worse and more intense, not better.

Gradually, over time, Jake came to realize that he'd been tricked. He still held out hope that the two-faced jerk would live up to his side of the bargain but the husky began to suspect that he was never going to see any of that two million dollars. Not unless he was able to press civil charges and managed to drag the liar into court.

Suspicion turned to certainty when Marcus began calling the husky "Blue-Balls" rather than BB. Later that same day Jake made his first escape attempt which the fox had long been anticipating. The effort was doomed to failure before it even began and soon afterwards BB's balls paid the price in the form of an agonizing egg-cracking 'disciplinary action'.

After the ill-advised escape attempt the twenty-one year old was drilled even harder. Every day was a looping montage of strict puppy behavior practice, rigorous obedience training, and humiliating sexual 'education'. Week rolled into week without Jake being able to demand answers to even the most fundamental questions.

Another major change that occurred after the escape attempt is that Marcus began his sexual training. The husky's mouth and ass were equally likely to be used and over time the fox insisted he become more and more of an active "willing" participant or suffer the consequences. And both the expectations and consequences grew steadily over time. It got to the point where if Jake didn't suck off the fox's cock like it was the most delicious thing in the world that not only would Marcus spend hours inflicting once unimaginable agonies upon him but his own young and needy shaft would sentenced to days or even weeks of chastity, depending on how severe the husky's "unacceptable" hesitation or refusal was.

By month four Jake knew many positions for offering up his "puppy holes" to the trainer as well as multiple techniques for maximizing a "person's" pleasure. (By that point Marcus was always careful to make clear to the husky that he was now an animal -- a non-person) And if Jake dared to so much as look slightly annoyed at having to bend over or go down on the fox, the expert trainer would instantly spot the bad attitude and then make the young man suffer until, gradually, over time, obedience and adherence to the rules became second nature to the boy.

'Why was the fox doing this?' Jake asked himself countless times, desperate to know the answer to this most important of questions. Hadn't they been friends? Or at least buddies? Was the man serious with this or just incredibly committed to the roleplay? Didn't the jerk understand that it was illegal to keep him here against his will? Had the whole contract been a lie? Had the promised money been a lie? Had everything the fox had told him since they met been a lie?

But the puppy trainer wasn't interested in answering questions. One did not converse with a dog or "chat things over" with them. They definitely didn't explain their reasoning or motivations. Owners commanded puppies and the puppies were expected to obey -- or face the consequences.

In fact, after the real training got underway Marcus would go on to only have one more (one-sided) conversation with the boy. A singular "discussion" where the fox addressed the husky as if he were a near-equal. Or at least, spoke to the boy as though he were an intelligent creature capable of understanding full sentences. And that talk occurred on Jake's final day of training, less than an hour before the canine's future owner would be there to pick his new property up.

"Blue-Balls, listen. This is important," the man said, using his you-better-not-fuck-around authoritative voice to ensure he had the dog's full attention.

That tone had come to terrify the husky because it usually signaled that things were about to escalate, yet again.

"As you've probably guessed by now, you will not be returning to your former life. You're a puppy now and a puppy you will remain, for the rest of your days. You will never regain your hands, your voice, or even the ability to make important decisions for yourself. You are now and forever an owned pet. Which is to say, property."

Jake had long suspected that this would be the case (or at least that the fox would have no interest in helping him regain his personhood) but to hear it calmly and confidently stated aloud still took the former barista's breath away. Again the husky was struck by how different the current Marcus was compared to the smiling, flirting man he'd met on that jogging trail.

"And while I'm delivering difficult news, I might as well mention that this will be our last day together. I've found you a new owner. A man who has paid a great deal of money for you, it's worth noting. They'll be by in a few hours to pick you up and bring you to your new home. And since they live a fair distance away from here, this is all but certain to be the last time we see one another. What happens to you after that is none of my business and I will have neither the ability nor inclination to check in on you. And with me out of your life, all your connections to your past life will have been severed."

He was being sold, Jake finally understood. This was the endgame of this cruelest of tricks. The puppy barked at the man, unable to hold back his bitter anger over the realization that his life had been ruined over a few dollars.

"Hush now. I'm not finished," Marcus said, using a tone of voice intended to indicate that Jake was skating on perilously thin ice.

"I would like to thank you for being so easy to capture and tame. This has been one of the smoothest transitions from person to dog-slut that I have experienced during my career as a pet trainer. I suppose that you should be commended for that, but you can take that 'compliment' however you please."

Jake was stunned. Even if he could talk, he wouldn't know what to say to that or how to respond. But part of him heard and acknowledged the fact that Marcus had just confirmed that this wasn't the first time he'd done this to someone -- turning a person into a four-legged pet.

The husky was finally getting a sense of who this "Marcus" person was. Far too late, he realized.

"Regardless of the underlying reasons that made your training so easy, you have my gratitude. It was a treat getting to see you brought so low, to show you your place in the world, and to use you for my personal sexual gratification over the last many months. That's what initially attracted my attention to you, by the way. Your good looks. From the moment I saw you, I was struck by how extremely 'breedable' you were. Isn't that such a strange twist of fate? If you'd been born just a little less pretty -- if you hadn't caught my eye -- you'd still be free right now."

Jake wanted to rip the man's throat out but he knew from past attempts that the ever-watchful trainer would be ready for that. The boy's training-reinforced discipline held strong as he barely even twitched as the fox's cruel words.

The man smiled approvingly at the dog, as though he knew exactly what was going on in the young man's mind.

"On the topic of having my sexual needs met... I'm not finished speaking with you yet, but we still have some time before your new owner arrives. There's no reason we can't get in one last blowjob. So if you'd be so kind..."

Marcus pulled out his shaft with no fanfare or showmanship. He had no need or desire to impress the puppy. Jake was there for his pleasure -- not the other way around.

The husky hesitated only for a microsecond. Unbidden, a oft-repeat mantra began to play on a loop in the back of his head as he moved forward to take the cock into his salivating mouth.

It was an honor to serve people. It was a puppy's privilege to satisfy a person. A puppy must do their very best to service their person. A puppy must not hesitate when following instructions. A puppy was property and property had no rights or pride. A puppy must always prioritize a person's pleasure above their own. It was a puppy's duty to provide a person the very best orgasm they could. A puppy must never expect a reward for fulfilling their responsibilities.

Working nearly on autopilot, the husky's mouth and lips formed a warm, wet, sensual receptacle around the soft rod as he dutifully worked to bring the man to full arousal.

"No slacking, pup. I can and will discipline you if this is anything short of what I know you're capable of."

But the fox's words weren't needed. Jake had been doing his best to provide the man pleasure for months now and wouldn't know how to half-ass the blowjob even if he tried. He knew the man didn't deserve this pleasure but that didn't change the fact that this was what Jake had been trained to do, and do well.

"There we go, boy. That's what I like to see. Submission. Sweet surrender. An unambiguous demonstration that you know your place. I taught you well, didn't I? Even if you didn't always appreciate my lessons."

The dog's ear twitched as he let the words flow over and through him. Jake repeated the mantra in his head. It was an honor to serve people. It was a puppy's privilege to satisfy a person. A puppy must never expect a reward for fulfilling their responsibilities.

"I should mention that while you'll never see me again, a good portion of your training was captured on high-definition video, from multiple angles. So if I ever become nostalgic for the time we've spent together I can simply stream a video on my TV or computer. You, on the other hand, will have to rely on your memories of me, if you ever find yourself missing my touch or my taste. I do hope you'll remember me fondly in the years to come."

Feeling used on multiple levels, Jake blushed at the realization that much of his months of pain and humiliation had been caught on camera. He felt so used. So taken advantage of. And yet the thought of being permanently separated from the fox somehow still filled him with anxiety and dread.

The man had become his sole touchstone -- his foundation. It felt awful to admit it, but this terrible man had become his last contact in this world. Without Marcus he'd have nothing, and no one.

And then the fox ejaculated into his mouth for the last time, grunting in satisfaction as he did so. The orgasm was larger and went on for longer than usual, as if the trainer was especially turned on. Jake was careful to swallow every drop, his throat gulping in a steady rhythm.

When Marcus pulled out and stuffed his still-hard cock back into his pants, he didn't bother thanking the puppy for sucking him off. Not a single word of gratitude was offered. After all, a puppy should never expect a reward for fulfilling their responsibilities. The man simply continued on with his semi-prepared speech.

"Your new owner should be about fifteen or twenty minutes out, so that gives us just enough time for some final words of advice. Lay down at my feet and listen carefully, BB. I'll need to be brief and I won't be repeating myself."

His mouth still filled with the man's taste, the canine just stared at the man.

"You've been obedient and patient today, puppy. I'd hate for your last memories of me to be of my hand crushing your balls. We should part ways on a more positive note than that, shouldn't we? Sit."

Jake sat. As always the man held all the cards and there was nothing he could do.

"That's a good boy. You were always my compliant little lover boy, weren't you? My handsome pushover."

The dog growled and barked, knowing from past experience that the man expected a response.

"It's because you were such a sweet boy that I tried hard to match you with an equally thoughtful master. Technically the brute of a man who owns a series of junkyards was willing to pay a little more for you, but I made an exception in your case and sold you to another man whose temperament of you is sure to be much more to your liking. Do you see how I take care of you, pup? Do you appreciate what a good trainer I've been to you?"

Jake replied with another bark, this one closer to neutral in tone.

"I'm glad. It's quite rare that I turn down extra money on behalf of a pet, but here we are. And while I can't say for sure, I suspect that this decision saved your puppy balls from castration. For whatever that's worth. As for the man who actually purchased you, I'll let you make up your own mind about him. You'll be meeting him in just a few minutes, so there's no reason for me to waste time speaking about the man."

The husky stared at the fox. At this point he just wanted the man to get his final speech over with so he could pull the bandaid off and deal with whatever came next.

Marcus must have interpreted this to mean the boy was listening attentively because he continued after a brief pause.

"Here's my first bit of advice to you: Remember that first impressions are important and that this man paid a great deal of money for you. It's in your best interest to make him feel like this money was well spent. So be attentive, respectful, open to his touch, and -- if you can manage it -- loving. If it helps, remember that this isn't the man who ruined your life. I am. An act I take full responsibility for, by the way. Taking your frustration out on your new owner will only hurt yourself in the long run."

Jake wanted to roll his eyes as he thought, "Don't piss off the man who has complete power over me. Got it. What clever advice you have for me. Asshole."

But the puppy maintained a semblance of good discipline because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Marcus could and would punish him for stepping even one paw out of line.

"My second piece of advice is this: Do not permit resentment towards me to linger in your heart. Whether I did right or wrong by you is immaterial. What's done is done and obsessing over what cannot be changed will tarnish your present and future. When your future owner wags his erect cock in front of your muzzle, do not think 'If only I'd never met Marcus, I wouldn't be in this humiliating situation.' Instead, live in the present and think about what a gift it is, to be able to show your wonderful owner how much you love and respect him. Give him the best blowjob you possibly can, for he surely deserves it. Be a good pet for your man and keep your heart free of negative thoughts and resentment."

This time the husky trembled with anger and frustration.

The words were so easy and cheap for the fox to say. But all of this was his doing and he was the one making out like a bandit as he sold Jake off like he was an object or a toy. Marcus was getting a literal payday for fucking up the dog's life. And now the man just wanted him to turn the other cheek and let it go? The audacity -- the sheer gall -- was outrageous.

If looks could kill, Jake would have shot death beams from his eyes and melted the man down into slag. His jaw creaked from the strength of his clenched muscles as his teeth ground together.

"My third and final piece of advice is short and sweet. Allow yourself to enjoy being a pet. Have fun with it. Your fate cannot be changed so why not embrace it? I can see you think I'm jesting, but I'm quite serious. Stop and think about it for a moment: No taxes. No responsibilities. No boring desk job where you slowly die a little inside each day. Just the pure, innocent life of being an owned puppy. And since you cost more than most houses, you can be sure your new master will treasure you."

The young man had come to realize that the harsh task-master was cruel and pitiless. Now Jake was made to wonder if the fox might be crazy too. Did the man really believe those words?

Almost certainly not, the husky realized at once. After all, he was in his forties and despite all his money he'd never turned himself into a four-legged puppy.

Of course, Jake didn't know the history or context of the "puppy community" or he would have understood that dogs and only dogs were considered proper "puppy material". Even other canines, such as a fox, weren't seen as desirable pets. But even had he known this, the husky still would have been certain that the fox would have never in a million years put himself through this.

"Naturally it will take you some time to settle into your new life -- to learn the moods and preferences of your owner. I'm not saying it will be easy or effortless. I'm just recommending that in a few weeks time, you should pause and take stock of all the positive things in your life. This man strikes me as a kind master who will love and care for you. That's much more than many people get out of life."

Jake wasn't interested in hearing any more 'advice' from the man who had tricked him and who had repeatedly lied to him. This man had forced him to go through months of horrible 'behavioral conditioning' where he had to obey every little command lest he suffer horribly. And the fox had made him suffer so. The agonies this hard-eyed fox inflicted on him would haunt him for the rest of his days, he suspected.

"Well, that's it. I've said what I wanted to say and I've left you with my words in your ears, my taste in your mouth, and my cum in your stomach. A fine last meeting I should think. I'm going to go wash your dog saliva off my cock and prepare myself to greet your new owner. We will never see each other again. This is goodbye, Blue-Balls. Have a good life."

Jake glared pure hatred at the fox but the trainer has already turned to leave the room.

In the end, Marcus didn't even so much as glance back over towards Jake as he left the transformed youth to whatever future awaited him. For some reason, that really bothered the husky. It was like the fox had just left and moved on while he was still stuck here, waiting for the axe to fall.

But then again, he'd come to expect that sort of thing from the man. Marcus hadn't treated him like a thinking, feeling person in months. This final "conversation" was just the trainer's way of saying "goodbye."

And so Jake sat and waited in the side room for his new owner to come and collect him.

The husky exerted tremendous effort and self-discipline to avoid imagining what kind of person the man would be. Because some of the stereotypes of the sort of person who would purchase what was effectively a slave terrified him. And there didn't seem to be any point in guessing as it wouldn't have an actual impact on who would or wouldn't walk through that door.

When his new owner did arrive, the man was nothing like what the husky expected.

Poking just his head into the room first (as though concerned he might have taken a wrong turn), when the short, white-furred beagle spotted the husky he smiled and came in, shutting the door behind him.

The middle-aged man's clothes were casual but well made and the gentleman had a sort of "rich librarian" vibe about him Jake thought, as the two men looked at one another. To the puppy, the man seemed... incredibly normal. With the exception that the white-furred beagle bears an uncanny resemblance to a character from a cartoon that Jake used to watch as a child: Mr. Peabody.

The man was even un-ironically wearing large round black glasses frames. The only thing missing from the unintentional look was the red bow tie. Otherwise the man might as well be cosplaying Mr. Peabody. Jake assumed the man was entirely unaware that he was very nearly a doppelganger of a cartoon character.

It would have made for an excellent ice breaker for that intensely awkward moment, had Jake only been capable of speech.

That's when the thought struck the boy. This man couldn't really be his new owner, could he? There was no way that his life had become so absurd that a mister-peabody-lookalike was going to have complete control over his life? That couldn't be a real thing that really happened to be. Right?

"This is too surreal," the husky thought to himself. "Someone pinch me, please."

But his reality stubbornly refused to change as the older man half-crouched so that he could offer the back of his hand for Jake to smell. That's when the man finally spoke.

"Hello, BB. My name is Mr. Carson and as of today I'm your new owner. I hope that we can be good friends and make a lot of great memories in the months to come."

Not wanting to offend Mr. Carson, Jake cautiously sniffs at the man's hand before giving it a small, reluctant lick.

"Good boy," the beagle said, his voice bright and approving as he adjusted his large glasses. "Marcus gave me the impression that you might be eager to leave this place. What do you say about pausing the introductions for the time being and getting the heck out of here?"

Jake barded excitedly in response to that. Since the man seemed at least somewhat normal and considering that he wanted to get away from Marcus as quickly as possible, the younger dog was all for that idea.

"Excellent. It's a bit of a drive to get back home, so we can chat on the way there. I know that your voice has been permanently altered by the procedure, so I'm sure I'll end up doing most of the talking."

Jake looked up at the man, not sure how to take the comment.

"That was a joke," the beagle said after an awkward chuckle upon seeing the husky's deadpan stare. "Just not a very good one, I suppose."

A short walk later (with the man firmly holding onto the leash he'd clasped onto the dog's collar), they'd entered the man's white SUV and were on the road.

Wanting to keep the conversation lightweight and superficial, Mr. Carson spent most of the time telling Jake about the neighborhood he'll be living in. Its size, population, sights and attractions, and the various parks and hiking trails the man was looking forward to showing him.

It wasn't a topic Jake was particularly excited about but every minute they spent driving was additional miles put between him and the fox, so the puppy didn't mind.

In addition to details about where he lived, Mr. Carson sprinkled in a few biographical details. The man mentioned that he used to be married but he and his wife divorced a couple years earlier. They had a kid together -- a daughter -- but she'd been off to college for a few years now.

The husky got the impression that the man was a bit lonely. He used to share a house with a wife and a daughter and now he lived alone. The man didn't say so but Jake figured the change must have been tough on the guy.

Once they'd driven for nearly five hours straight, they'd finally arrived at the man's house. Looking out the window, Jake could see that this was an upscale neighborhood. Very upscale because the houses were big, the lawns were huge and verdant, and the closet neighbor's house was a good ways away and separated by a sturdy wooden privacy fence covered in vines.

The property also had its own private gate the husky saw, which he knew would be a problem when and if he made an escape attempt.

Once inside the spacious, impeccably furnished home, Mr. Carson gave Jake the tour. After that, their first half-day together ended up being fairly "normal" (or normal enough to Jake, considering his circumstances) and this was fine for the dog because he wasn't mentally prepared to think about this divorced, middle-age "Mr. Peabody" using him sexually. That would just be too weird on too many levels.

So, Jake was glad that the man hasn't so much as hinted that this might be so much as a possibility. As far as the husky could tell, the beagle just genuinely wanted some platonic company. This suited the puppy just fine.

Towards the end of the day Jake looked out of the living room's window as the sun set with the man reading a book nearby on the couch. The youth was a bit bored but boring was good, compared to the daily hell he experienced while in Marcus' "care".

"This was a good first day, wasn't it BB? A promising fresh start."

Jake almost nodded but then his ingrained training took over as he remembered that he was supposed to bark. The dog did so in agreement with the man's words.

"I'm glad you think so too."

Without missing a beat the beagle set his book aside on the nearby end table, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his half-aroused member.

"Now, let's have you suck my cock before we tuck in for the night."

Jake was stunned. Truly stunned, though he knew he shouldn't have been. Why else would someone spend that much money on acquiring a transformed dog like him if not for precisely this. It was just that, the way the man had been acting towards him... The cordial, almost neighborly way Mr. Carson had been treating him... He had just assumed...

The puppy's training pushed at him, insisting that he needed to go over and give the man his already salivating mouth. But Jake held back, resisting the compulsion and forcing himself to stay in place.

The problem was Mr. Carson looked like... well, a dad. Not his dad but definitely someone's dad. The man would have fit right in as one of the neighborhood fathers on the street where Jake had grown up. Which was to say, the beagle didn't look anything like what Jake would consider a prospective sexual partner.

And yet, despite the dog's clear hesitation to comply, the short, mature gentleman seemed entirely comfortable and self-confident that this was going to happen. The man didn't seem the least bit taken aback or even offended by his new dog's hesitation.

"No need to look so surprised, BB. We're both adults here. Well, I'm an adult anyway. And as an adult, I have my needs. Needs which I'm well aware you've been trained to meet. So if you'd kindly come over here and wrap your lips around my shaft, we'll get started on the other part of your 'companionship responsibilities'."

Jake felt trapped. He couldn't believe this was really happening to him. This.. this older dad couldn't really expect him to... to...

"Come here, boy. Suck!"

The words struck Jake like a lightning bolt. They were a variation on the same words the fox had used on him hundreds of times over the course of his training. The husky's body moved instinctively, without thought or additional consideration. Jake had been trained to obey those words -- that tone of voice -- and the beagle had taken full advantage of that fact.

Within a few seconds the dog closed the distance between them, shoved his muzzle between the man's legs, and took Mr. Carson's semi-erect shaft over his tongue and between his lips.

He was doing it, Jake realized with dawning horror. He was sucking "Mr. Peabody's" cock. It felt like he was trapped in a dream, or a nightmare.

"Good boy," the beagle said, attempting to maintain his composure but half panting the words. "I'm glad that we understand one another. Yes... Yes, this is just what I needed after a long day. Good puppy."

By the time the canine fully came back to himself and realized what he was doing, it was too late to stop. There was zero chance that his new owner would be okay with him pulling away mid-way through, leaving him hard and needy. At the same time, Jake's service mantra ran through his head. Some part of him insisted that he owed this to the beagle. His training told him that he was a service animal and that it was his nature and duty to serve.

So the husky was stuck. Now that he'd started to suck on the other canine's rod he couldn't stop. And once he'd serviced the man once the precedent would be set and he'd be expected to keep servicing the man. Tomorrow, and the next day, and endlessly on after that.

And then suddenly something else caught Jake's attention as his head bobbed and his mouth sucked. The man's cock it was... becoming large. Big. Huge, even. Jake felt the girth thicken between his lips, pushing his jaw apart as he was forced to adapt and accommodate.

This man, Mr. Carson... he was hung! The thing had to be a foot long. And thick, too. Supremely girthy.

The beagle must have sensed the husky's sudden hesitation because he spoke up again.

"Pump your head back and forth. Keep going. There's no need to be afraid of my cock, pup. It's not going to bite you."

Knowing that he'd already be whimpering and whining in agony if he'd hesitated like that with Marcus, Jake redoubled his efforts on the shockingly endowed unit.

He had just settled back into his rhythm and had begun opening up his throat to the man when Mr. Carson cut in to say, "That's enough. For our first time, I'd prefer to finish in your other end. Turn around, raise your tail, and show me the hole I'll be claiming."

The man might have looked like a diminutive librarian but he spoke with absolute authority. This was an owner who expected his pet to listen and obey. And Jake did.

Turning around to face the entertainment system on the other side of the room, the husky stepped forward and raised his tail. He tried hard not to think too hard about the saliva-soaked monster that was pointed towards his hole.

But then, ignoring it became impossible as the beagle stepped up, got into position, and began to press forward. Jake felt something warm, blunt, and thick try to force its way inside of him. The dog gasped in pain as his tight ring was forced to give way and spread.

"Hmmm. Feels a bit tight," Mr. Carson muttered, making the understatement of the year.

Jake wished he could have pleaded for the man to take a moment and grab some lube but the only sounds his throat made were pathetic whining noises.

"I don't think you're quite stretched out enough to make this feasible, pup," the beagle reluctantly admitted.

The dog almost sighed in relief upon hearing the words, until he felt the man shove even harder rather than pull back.

"But it doesn't hurt to try. I think with a little bit of determination and effort, we can probably make this work. But... Let me grab the lube, just to help out a bit. You stand there and think wide thoughts."

As soon as the man took a step back and the pressure relented, Jake prepared himself to run and hide from the man. But Mr. Carson must have spotted that the dog was getting ready to bolt because he called out, "Stay, BB!"

The command practically made him cease up, freezing the puppy in place faster than he could engage conscious thought. 'Stay' had been another of the commands that Marcus had spent countless hours drilling into him.

After a few seconds Jake was able to overcome the compulsion to stay completely still but by that point he'd recovered enough to realize that trying to run and hide from the horny middle-aged man would be a bad idea.

The man returned moments later with lube in hand which he began to liberally apply to both his own eager footlong pole and the puppy's clenching, nervous hole.

"Here it comes. You're about to get what every puppy craves: Their owner's cock."

There was no hesitation as the man got back into position and shoved forward again. This time four inches sank in before Jake could so much as twitch. But then the pain caught up with him as his stretched-wide hole burned like fire. That much girth had no business going in that fast but no one had bothered to tell the man that.

Jake instinctively tried to pull away from the devastation being wrought under his tail but the man grabbed his collar, holding him in place. The pain was so bad! The four-legged canine tried to say that there was no way he was ready for this but all he managed were yips and howls.

"Stay with me. It's always hardest the first time. Just surrender and give yourself over to me and this will be smoother for you."

The man's voice didn't sound cruel. Just oblivious and naïve. Not only was the beagle an exclusive top who had never bottomed before, this was actually his very first sexual experience with another male. He'd never even tried anal with his largely unadventurous ex-wife. Not that he was going to tell his dog that. The puppy didn't need to know that he wasn't one-hundred percent sure what he was doing, he'd already decided.

And so Mr. Carson continued to push forward even as he pulled back on the dog's collar, choking the husky.

"We're making progress," the man said a few seconds later as he continued to apply firm and constant pressure on the dog's spasming hole. "Halfway in now."

"Just halfway?!" Jake wanted to shout. His face was a darkly comical mask of shock, pain, and disbelief. Had the husky been able to see himself in a mirror, he would have been ashamed at how undignified he looked as he took the older man's erection deeper and deeper into his rear.

"And touchdown. Good puppy! You took all of it. Every inch. I'm so proud of you, boy."

Rather than feel proud, Jake felt like he'd just been fisted and the fist was still crammed deep inside his colon. He couldn't believe this "dad" was making him ache and sweat this much. Despite his similarities to Mr. Peabody, the beagle had seemed so unremarkable just a few minutes earlier.

Now Jake knew that the man had been hiding a missile program in his pants, and that Mr. Carson wasn't afraid to use it. His whole body trembled with the strain of having the huge thing inserted balls-deep into him.

"That's my brave puppy. I'll give you a couple of minutes to adjust, then we'll get you bred. Daddy's going to turn your cunt soggy with his cum, boy -- you better believe it."

The husky barely heard him. He felt close to passing out as he tried to breath deep and recover. Jake thought that if the man had been trying a point about who was in charge here, that mission had undoubtedly been accomplished.

What happened next wasn't exactly the most exciting sex in the world, despite the bold and brash start. Mostly the man just pulled half way, paused a half beat, then shoved right back in before repeating this over and over. But the beagle was so big that even this bare-bones tactic was rocking the husky's world.

The only thing that made the sex more than utterly vanilla was the fact that Mr. Carson just kept right on talking while he worked his hips.

"You feel that, pup? That's daddy claiming you. Making you mine. No other dick is ever going to be enough to satisfy you -- not after I'm done with you."

Jake wasn't in a position to disagree with the older man. He was just glad his hole now only merely "acutely ached" instead of "throbbed in agony." The dog hoped Mr. Carson would cum soon but the man kept right on talking as he seesawed in and out.

"Blowjobs are fine -- and I'm definitely going to be trying out that silky throat of yours -- but this is how an owner and their pet really speak to one another. And you and I? We're going to be having a lot of conversations in the days to come. My good, obedient puppy."

The man had relaxed his death-grip on the dog's collar and now used his free hands to pet and stroke the handsome dog's back and sides.

"You're relaxing a bit. That's good. I want you to feel safe with me. I really have every intention of being a good owner to you, BB. I won't beat you, or de-ball you, or send you to bed without dinner. And in return, you're going to be my sugarboo love-bug. I want us to be close, Blue-Balls. Really close."

Jake certainly felt "close" to the man in that particular moment, with twelve inches of extra-wide, belatedly-lubed beagle shaft fed up his hole. Just maybe not the type of "close" the man was referring to.

"That's right. Each day, after the day is done and the lights are off, you're going to curl in close, snuggle me, and then rock my world. Or probably, I'll be the one rocking your word. That's assuming we didn't get up to any hanky-panky during the day. Daddy's got a lot of sexual stamina, but even my gas tank isn't infinite. I mean, I'm not as young as I used to be."

Upon hearing the man once again to himself as "daddy", the boy was suddenly hyper aware that the man was an actual dad -- that he'd fathered a daughter and that his kid was running around somewhere, out in the world. That the cock Mr. Carson was repeatedly shoving into him had fertilized a woman's womb and that very soon it would be likewise spurting inside of him.

The thought made Jake feel dirty. And perhaps slightly aroused. He blushed hotly, shame written across his face as the man continued to thrust and talk.

"We're going to make so many memories together, Blue-Balls. And after I get you caged tomorrow, you'll always be in the mood. Your little boy-ovaries will jump for joy whenever I come back from an errand or a trip. You're always going to want me -- to need me -- and I promise you that the feeling will be mutual."

...Caged? The man couldn't mean...? As in, chastity cage? But why?! Jake was so confused. He'd done everything that the man had told him.

The man must have sensed him stiffen and growl because he was quick to speak up and add, "Don't worry, I'm not cruel. I won't keep you completely chaste -- though I'll admit that I did briefly entertain the notion. Be a good boy and daddy will let you cum two, or maybe even three times a year. That will strike a fair balance between keeping you interested and eager and letting you make an occasional puppy mess."

The canine couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Did this cartoon character of a man just tell him that he'd be lucky to get off three times a year? Jake assumed he must have misunderstood because that was just plain crazy talk.

"But enough about your future cummies. It's time to focus on the real cock in this relationship. It's already late and we're both tired, so I'll stop holding back."

"Stop holding back" was not what Jake wanted to hear.

With very little transition there was suddenly pistoning force pushing into and out of his already strained, stretched hole. Jake grunted and tried to keep standing, both his patience and his energy reserves running low.

From that point on there were no more words. Just grunting and moaning and heavy breathing.

And since Jake could only stand there on all fours and take it, this gave him time to think. Not that the dog thought of anything overly productive. He thought about what his life had become. About how far he'd fallen. That a middle-aged beagle -- a dad and apparently a DILF -- was breeding his lubed, stretched-out hole like it was a normal, natural thing to do.

Jake thought about what he'd lost and what he'd been turned into. That he was a mute, helpless slut and that somehow things had progressed such that this awkward, friendly dad was going to use him for sexual relief. Like a toy. And not with an average or even above average cock. Oh no. Of course fate, or genetics, or luck had seen fit to endow the short dog with a twelve inch baton, which in turn Mr. Carson expected him to take care of.

That's when the absurdity and humiliation of his situation really struck home. Jake hadn't even realized he'd grown erect at some point when his own untouched nine incher began spewing its hot load on the ground, hands-free.

Whether through coincidence or because the husky's clenching tripped him over the edge, Mr. Carson likewise began cumming moments later, the two dogs joined together in mutual climax. The older man fucked the panting dog hard as he rode his own orgasm out before pulling out and collapsing onto his back, his breath suddenly as labored as his pet's.

For a long minute, neither of the cummed-out males spoke. Jake because he couldn't and Mr. Carson because he wasn't quite sure what to say. It took the beagle a short while to remember that he didn't need to be self-conscious around the dog. Blue-Balls was his puppy -- not the other way around.

"I guess we both needed that," the man said, smiling but not getting up. Jake, still dumb-struck by the realization of what his life had become, hadn't moved from where he'd just been fucked. BB's legs trembled slightly as spent cream streamed and dripped from his slightly agape backside.

Mr. Carson remembered Marcus' advice that the new puppy owner needed to use this first day to set the tone for their relationship. It was good advice, he decided.

"Forgetting something, boy? You made this mess, so you get to clean it up. Lick me clean first, then take care of that mess you're dripping on the floor."

But Jake acted as though he hadn't even heard the man. The dog looked shell-shocked as though he hadn't come to terms with his new reality.

"Puppy?" Mr. Carson asked, speaking a bit louder and with more steel in his voice. "I'm not in the mood for games right now. Put that mouth to work and then we can snuggle up in bed."

The husky blinked as if just remembering where he was. Then he looked over at the beagle's glistening, lube-and-cum covered cock and blanched slightly. But the dog must have realized he didn't have a choice because he trotted over and got to work, licking and slurping the gooey mess of a crotch clean with his tongue.

"That's a good boy. Don't miss anything. You've been such an excellent behaver today and I don't want to have to correct you over such a trivial matter."

But Jake had been trained by Marcus and knew what he was doing.

"What a good helper you are, Blue-Balls. Now, start on the floor and I'll go fetch a plug to keep you from dripping any more. You need to start getting used to sleeping with one of these inside of you anyway."

A half hour later the pair was cleaned, groomed, and ready for bed. Mr. Carson had even given Jake a doggie treat for being such a diligent cleaner before brushing the younger boy's teeth.

Once the lights were off and they were in bed, the beagle had BB curl up near him. The dog didn't seem quite relaxed and comfortable around him yet, but the husky also didn't seem scared or fretful. It was more like the puppy was moving on autopilot, just doing whatever he was told to avoid being punished.

Mr. Carson thought it was a fine start. The dog's personality would begin to shine through over time as he gradually realized that this wasn't just A home but HIS home. Because the beagle really did want this to be a good home for his puppy, just as he wanted to be a good owner and master for the dog.

The man closed his eyes, took deeper, calming breaths, and tried to quiet his mind in preparation for sleep.

Laying close by on the other side of the large bed, Jake watched the middle-aged man rest. The twenty-one year old tried to make up his mind about the beagle but he has conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he hates the man for perpetuating his humiliating sexual enslavement. On the other hand, the man's role in this felt more like a cog in the machine than THE reason the husky was in this mess. If the man hadn't bought him, someone else would have.

And yet, such a perspective seemed way too forgiving towards the wealthy beagle. After all, Mr. Carson had just taken sexual advantage of him, right in the guy's own living room. And now that he thought about it, Jake didn't even think the beagle closed the blinds. Anyone could have peeked in and watched him get fucked by the man.

Did the man not think about that? Did he not care? Were "puppies" so common in this man's world that no one would think twice about seeing a middle-aged man aggressively pump a load into an altered boy's ass?

Jake didn't know because he understood precious little about the context or history of this particular "lifestyle", but he had a feeling he was going to find out. Because as much as he hated to admit it, there was no escape. He was just as helpless today as he was the day he woke up in that creepy capybara's clinic. The husky hadn't spoken a single word since his procedure.

The boy nearly jolted when he felt a hand reach over and gently pat his head, the touch warm and comforting. Mr. Carson must have not been asleep after all, he realized.

"I know new beginnings can be scary, BB. It's tough to start over. Believe me, I understand. Though I appreciate that a middle-aged man's divorce has little in common with what you're going through. But I give you my word that things will look better tomorrow. And even better the day after that. And eventually this won't just be my home -- it will be our home. Yours and mine, together. So, just try to be patient and give it a chance, okay?"

The man sounded so sincere, so genuine, that Jake could almost pretend the man hadn't just finished breeding him until his legs quivered with fatigue. But still, the man was trying to be nice, so...

The puppy gently licked the man's palm, trying his best to convey to the man that he didn't blame him for everything that had happened to him.

The man smiled back at him in the darkness.

"Also, forgive an older man for sounding crude, but... That was the best sex of my life. You are one sexy puppy, BB. You made me very happy today."

Naturally Jake blushed because he had a far older man telling him just how enjoyable his hole was to cream. But the husky also felt strangely proud. Marcus had been treating him like a robot or a simple minded beast for months and here was this man treating him like... Well, not like a person. But maybe more than a mindless animal.

"Now, get your rest. You're going to need your energy tomorrow because we're going to the vet's office, followed by a trip to the park. And maybe a surprise third spot, if you're a good boy and don't make a fuss while the doctor fits you with your chastity device."

Jake huffed at that but the beagle seemed determined to have him caged. He supposed that was better than castration, which the fox had explained was a real possibility, depending on who he ended up getting "matched with" (which was the trainer's preferred terminology for "sold to").

"Don't huff at me, pup. This is for the best, even if you can't see it. I want to be able to bring you with me wherever I go, and I can't do that if your impolitely long weiner is swinging and erecting everywhere, each time we go out in public. But don't worry, I paid for a very comfortable, long-term model that will keep your boy bits hidden and family friendly"

This time the husky did bark, unhappily. He might not be able to stop the older man but he wasn't going to pretend he was happy with it or act like he bought into the beagle's bullshit logic.

"Get as grumpy about it as you want, BB. But if you try to bite the vet while he's fitting the device on you, I'll tell you right now that we'll pivot to plan B and then you'll get your wish because the cage won't be needed after we relieve you of your two troublemakers. And really that applies to biting anyone, ever. But I'm sure that won't be a problem because you were trained by the best, weren't you?"

Jake barked again but more subdued this time. He didn't appreciate that he was being threatened with castration but since Mr. Carson had confirmed that wasn't currently in the cards, the dog didn't want to press his luck.

Besides, the beagle was right about one thing: If the man did something to get him hot and bothered out in a public space, there would be absolutely nothing he could do to hide the erection swinging down from between his hips. It's not like he was permitted to wear clothes anymore.

Still, the husky would strongly prefer to wear a jockstrap while out in public rather than a cage. But the man hadn't asked him for his opinion.

For his part, Mr. Carson had shared one valid reason for having Blue-Balls caged, but not the primary reason. The truth was, the beagle had done a lot of browsing and research online about owning a sentient puppy and there was one bit of advice that came up now and then that really resonated with him. And in short that advice was, if an owner was concerned that they were going to have a substantially higher libido than their pet, then the solution was to keep the puppy permanently or near-permanently caged.

The man's research told him that everything would be easier once the dog had been caged for a bit. That once Blue-Balls' "reserves" had grown sufficient enough that the boy was horny around the clock, it would be the gorgeous husky who would be shooting him longing, needful looks rather than the other way around.

Because Mr. Carson wasn't stupid. He understood all too well that with his short, older, nerdy physique he'd never be the most attractive man in the world. That BB would never look at him and think, "Wow, my owner is such a hot stud!". And the beagle was fine with that. It was what it was. But he still wanted his puppy to need him. To want him and to hunger for his touch.

So once he kept the boy dry long enough to reach a "plateau of need", he'd never let the handsome husky leave that state of being. Even the occasional hands-free orgasms he'd provide the dog would barely be enough to take the edge off his need. Blue-Balls was going to be a sex machine. A gorgeous, always horny, never satisfied, oh-god-daddy-please-fuck-me sex machine. All without his nine inch erection ever needing to make another appearance.

And. Mr. Carson couldn't wait. But the man also couldn't tell the boy about this plan because it was counter-productive to tell the pet you were trying to build a rapport with, "Hey, I plan on keeping you horny and frustrated so you'll want to have sex with a plain looking guy like me."

And in return for the small sacrifice of not being able to cum whenever the dog's soon-to-be-caged gonads demanded it, the big-hearted beagle was going to give the puppy the best life he possibly could.

A life full of adventure, good food, hiking trips to the beach and woods, movies, get-togethers, and lots of snuggling. Mr. Carson wanted BB to feel loved each and every day of his life, and that's what committed himself to delivering. And yes, the dog might be annoyed and upset when he came to understand just how restrictive his long-term chastity was going to be. But the beagle would coach him through it and be there for him.

Hell, he'd even hire the dog his own private pet-whisperer therapist, if the boy needed it. But he'd also explain to the husky that he wasn't expected to give up on sex. Indeed, he wanted the four-legged puppy to experience the best sex of his life! It was just that, Blue-Balls would need to learn to find satisfaction in the act through other avenues than the most traditional ones. Like, the pride that came with helping a room full of people get off, who were all so happy with him and complimentary towards him. Or the satisfaction that came with the knowledge that he was keeping his beloved owner regularly, blissfully drained.

In other words, the puppy would need to find a definition for sexual satisfaction that wasn't just how often he managed to get his own rocks off.

Yes, it would be a bit of a struggle for Blue-Balls to adjust to getting off just a few times a year. But the puppy was young and he would grow accustomed to it, sooner rather than later. Young men were resilient like that, Mr. Carson knew. And then BB would have years to really settle into his new life. And when you think about it in the timeframe of years, Blue-Balls still had dozens and dozens of climaxes to look forward to.

Sure, it would take the boy four or five years to achieve the number of orgasms that Mr. Carson would enjoy in a single week. But hey, that was the difference between being a puppy and being a person. And besides, the beagle's squirts should be thoroughly enjoyable to the dog, too. In fact, the trick was to teach the puppy that his owner's climaxes were far more important and pleasurable than his own erection-free squirts in the tub or on the floor.

As the beagle enjoyed his quiet, late-night fantasy regarding how he would control the husky's future orgasms, his twelve incher came to life again just under the thin covers. Mr. Carson resisted the urge to take his member in hand and stroke it. Instead, he prepared himself to ignore it. To deal with it in the morning.

But then he reminded himself that he was now the proud owner of a new puppy. And what was a dog for if not to help out their master in times like this? Wasn't it BB's duty as a pet to help him out when things got "hard"?

"Blue-Balls?" the man called out, his heart pounding in his chest. Oh, this felt so very naughty to the man. Deliciously naughty.

Jake, who'd been half asleep, raised his head. He didn't like being called by that awful name but he knew better than to ignore it.

"Daddy's having trouble sleeping. Be a good boy and take care of this for me, yeah?"

Mr. Carson pulled back the covers, revealing his freshly aroused footlong cock to the other canine.

Jake stared at it for a moment as if not quite prepared to believe that the man was already prepared for a second go.

"Oh, no. Not your ass this time, boy. Give me your throat. Take me deep and milk me, just like Mr. Donigan trained you. Just like in those lovely training videos he posted."

The husky closed his eyes and inaudibly sighed before he got up and got to work. He was tired, exhausted, and his plugged ass still hurt, but sure, why not give the entitled rich man who was going to chastity cage him a deepthroat-job so that the beagle could fall asleep a little easier?

But the puppy's dark, unhappy thoughts were kept to himself as he forced his warm, wet throat down and over the suddenly whimpering-in-delight beagle's cock.

"Good boy, puppy," Mr. Carson said, gasping in pleasure as his toes curled in involuntary delight. "You're such a good boy, BB. Daddy's beautiful cock-gobbler."

Jake blushed as he worked his head up and down over the man's still slightly lube-flavored spire. He didn't care for the man's demeaning compliments but... Well, it was nice to be appreciated. Marcus had certainly never praised him like this. With the fox the expectation had always been, "Do it perfectly each and every time or be brutally punished and wish that you had."

"I'm going to close my eyes again while you work," Mr. Carson mumbled, his voice low-energy. "If I slip off to sleep after I cum, just gently lick me clean, tug the covers back over me, and let me rest. And tomorrow... Tomorrow we'll go to the vet."

The four-legged pet wasn't in a position to argue with the man as the beagle relaxed into the pleasure the equally tired (but far younger) dog's mouth and throat was providing him. For several minutes the man let his mind drift and wander as the puppy expertly worked his arousal.

The topic his sleepy mind settled on was one that was a bit uncomfortable for the man to consider because Mr. Carson wasn't naïve. He knew that there was a decent chance that Jake wasn't the volunteer that Marcus Donigan made him out to be.

It went without saying that the beagle had his lawyer look into the contract and give his informed, legal opinion. The expensive and well-dressed ram had told him that everything looked to be in order and that contract checked out. Both the fox himself and the contract-signing witnesses seemed fully legitimate. So in the unlikely event that there was anything nefarious going on, Mr. Carson couldn't be held liable. The canine had done his due diligence and acted in good faith.

This information had left the canine with a choice. Did he choose to dig no further and turn a blind eye to the situation, so that he could acquire the puppy of his dreams? Or did he spend more of his own money to investigate that which his own lawyer had already signed off on, only to risk losing the prize he wanted above all else.

Because if Blue-Balls (formerly "Jake") wasn't here of his own volition and the beagle uncovered this unhappy fact, there would be no shared, happy future between the dog and his would-be owner. Everything would fall apart and the man would be left all alone in his big, lonely house. Again.

In the end, Jeremy Carson chose to pay the fox and buy the puppy. Was Blue-Balls truly a volunteer as the well-respected trainer claimed? Or at least, originally a volunteer until the true demands of being a fulltime puppy began to make him question his choices. The beagle didn't know. Not for sure. And now that he'd paid all that money, he certainly didn't plan on ever asking the puppy. What was done was done and it struck him as foolish to open that can of worms now that he'd made his decision.

So instead he'd focus on being a solid, trustworthy, honorable owner for BB. He might not have been the master the husky had wanted, but Mr. Carson would work tirelessly to be the master the husky deserved. A loving, attentive, caring master who would give him the best life and make him the happiest puppy who'd ever lived.

And right now what the husky deserved was a thick helping of cream, right down his throat.

Mr. Carson grunted out his orgasm with a sound that was more undignified and whiney than erotic. The man didn't care. A gentleman didn't need to worry about embarrassing themselves in front of their pet. What was the point of trying to be anything other than what he was when the pet was going to see him at his best and at his worst.

The beagle smiled to himself in the dark as he felt the puppy swallow and then lick his tender, slowly wilting length clean. Yes, Blue-Balls was going to be an exceptional pet. The boy was more than worthy of his love. And him? He was going to be a model owner and make all of Blue-Balls' puppy dreams come true.

Well... Maybe not all of the puppy's dreams Mr. Carson considered, thinking about the following day's vet appointment as he began to drift off to sleep. But sometimes what a pet wanted and what was good for them were two different things, his tired brain insisted.

The following days proved challenging for Jake. Once his new owner had "broken ground" on using the husky for his own sexual gratification, the beagle showed no signs of stopping. Blue-Balls never knew when the man might approach him for sexual service but it was a sure bet Mr. Carson would require his assistance in this area multiple times a day -- usually no less than twice but sometimes as many as four times a day.

The voiceless dog ended up getting fucked or having to go down on the older man in a great many places, both mundane and unexpected. The bedroom, the living room, and even the car were locations where "hanky-panky" (as the owner sometimes refers to it) wasn't unexpected. But the man also took BB whenever and wherever the mood struck him including the backyard, the nearby woods, and even the restroom as the vet's office where the man had mumble-grunted "we shouldn't be doing this here" in his ear even as the overly endowed man forced every inch of himself beneath the panting husky's tail.

The visit to the veterinarians clinic had been taxing too because that was the day the twenty-one year old had been fitted with his long-term chastity device which encompassed both his shaft and his balls. The doctor (a chipper tall lynx) had been cheery about explaining the expensive device's many features while ensuring the pet's curious owner that the cage would prevent all "unauthorized" messes.

Both men had prodded, poked, and rubbed his on-display package while they spoke and even the normally patient husky would have stood up for himself had he not been gagged and bound legs spread on the examination room table. Neither man checked in with him, spoke to him, or seemingly cared about his opinion of the device that was allegedly going to make him a "real animal in the sack," according to the vet.

"You're really going to be amazed at how much sexual energy Blue-Balls has, in just a few short days. In terms of the device itself, it comes in gun metal gray, shiney chrome, if you're looking to draw a little attention to your pet's nethers, and sheenless white, to blend in with his fur. Which model will you be purchasing today?"

After some consideration Mr. Carson ended up going with "sheenless white" so that he'd be more comfortable taking his puppy into family friendly places like malls and patio restaurants. What Jake didn't understand as the cage was adjusted and locked on is that this device meant he wouldn't experience another erection until his thirties, nearly ten years into the future. The pup didn't realize what was being taken away from him until it was gone.

And that's how Blue-Balls had come to be fucked in the clinic's bathroom. Locking away the husky's proud nine incher had pushed buttons the beagle didn't even know he had and he felt overcome with the need to breed his husky. To establish dominance as he fucked the boy's hole, which was still open for business even as his cock had just been "decommissioned".

A humiliation that was topped off by Mr. Carson bringing Jake back into the doctor's private office where the lynx also got to fuck him -- twice. Once in the mouth and again in the ass as the approving beagle looked on. The man was nowhere near as large as his master but it still felt awful to be passed around like he was some party favor or whore. The husky barely even noticed the chastity cage while he was being used by the stranger because he hadn't been tempted to get hard.

Unfortunately this changed over the coming days for the pet as his need for release slowly but steadily grew. This of course was one of the purposes of the device and the middle-aged beagle made no efforts to pretend otherwise.

"You're going to feel increasingly frustrated over the coming weeks," the man had explained to Jake as he washed the dog in the large tub. "This will be challenging at first but it's totally expected and not a sign that anything has gone awry. You're going to feel hot and needy, like you need to breed something but you can't. Sometimes sex with me will help alleviate this feeling. Other times sex with me will compound and exacerbate the sexual frustration. I'm telling you this now so that you know that the only remedy for this is time and patience. Eventually your body will acclimate and accept this as the new normal. Until then, carry on the best you can and do not -- I repeat, DO NOT -- take your frustrations out on anyone else. That includes your owner, who loves you very much."

Jake gave the man a mournful look and whined as the doggie shampoo was being washed away by a hand-held water spout.

"Don't give me those puppy dog eyes, boy. This is for the best. All the literature says so. And I don't mean to be critical, but you haven't exactly been an enthusiastic participant in our initial bedroom games. With this cage, that will all change. You're going to be daddy's pretty pup-slut and very soon you're going to begin craving my attention even more than I've been craving yours."

Not sure what else to do, the young man put a paw on his owner's shoulder as he whined even louder. Though unable to speak, he tried his best to make the man understand that this wasn't fair. That if the beagle could get hard and fuck him and cum, then he should be able to do those things too.

But the man either didn't understand the dog's meaning or just didn't see things that way.

"Trust me, BB. This will be good for you. Good for both of us. In time I'll prove to you that we don't need your erection to have a good time. We're going to have so much fantastic sex, you and I."

With a sinking heart and a growing sensation of dread, Jake realized that it didn't matter what he tried to convey or did. The frank-speaking beagle had already made up his mind and nothing was going to change it.

And then Mr. Carson turned off the tub, scrubbed him dry, walked him the short distance over to the bed, and fucked the dog dirty all over again. As the typically kind hearted beagle fucked him the man grunted softly into the dog's ear.

"Feel that, boy? Bet you're trying to get hard in your cage. It's just a little tremor now but just you wait. Daddy's going to make you ache down there. Daddy's going to light a fire that will never go out. Here, have another log for the fire. Daddy's thick footlong log, pushed deep into your pleasure palace. Who's a good boy? You're a good boy!"

Jake rolled his eyes as the man battered down his hole this time he didn't really feel the nonchalance he was trying to adopt. He felt worried. Assuming this wasn't some kind of bluff -- and the man's bright-eyed enthusiasm for his chastity belt strongly indicated it wasn't a bluff -- how was he going to feel a week from now? A month from now? Three months from now?

Even Marcus never made him go more than a few days without the opportunity to "earn" release. But Jake remembered how reaching the four day mark had made him ready to practically eat out of the awful fox's hand. He didn't want to imagine how he'd feel and act when weeks turned into months.

And so the days ticked on as Mr. Carson continued to show off his lovely, well-to-do community to the increasingly frustrated husky. Walks in the parks, strolls in the woods, and engaging in a bit of "window shopping" was a welcome distraction, but none of these outings, or TV watching, or jogging soothed the need that was growing more intense for Jake by the day.

In part due to the frequent "intimate cuddlings" he'd been having with his master, the puppy felt like his balls were about to burst from internal pressure. And the damn cage ensured that there was no getting to them. Balls and squeezed-tight shaft alike were kept secure, out of the way, and out of sight. Sex was constantly on the husky's mind as he realized that there was very little he wouldn't do for the man, if the beagle would just agree to jerk him off.

Because of this (and because of other indignities), during those first few weeks Jake hated the man. He loathed Mr. Carson. He despised the short man with his round glasses and huge cock. The young man even became REALLY annoyed that the man looked like Mr. Peabody, the damn cartoon character. In fact, pretty much everything about his new owner annoyed the twenty-one year old.

The ever-present sexual frustration made even the man's positive traits irksome. Like how friendly and polite the older beagle was. How the man kissed the husky's forehead or cut his meals into small bites so that the boy didn't experience any issues chewing his food. How the man pet his chest and belly while telling him what a handsome, good boy he was. How his owner always told them where they were going and how long they'd be there, knowing that Jake couldn't ask these most basic of questions. BB hated the man for making it so hard to dislike him.

And the worst part? The very worst part? Despite Jake's anger and resentment towards the man, there were times when his traitorous body yearned for the man. Were it not for his pride, during the moments when the growing "heat" became so all-consuming he would have arched his back, raised his tail, and vocalized his pleading that the man breed him. The husky resisted the urge to encourage the man to use him more than he already was.

But Jake didn't need to ask, did he? While the man wasn't a machine (being a somewhat out of shape middle-aged retiree), it never took the beagle too long before he'd walk meaningfully towards the bedroom while whistling for Blue-Balls to join him. And the boy knew what would happen in that bedroom. Mr. Carson had fairly straightforward tastes in this regard. Jake was going to get his throat fucked, his ass fucked, or both.

And over time the man became less "gentle" with Jake when it came to achieving his own release. Mr. Carson had never gone exactly soft on him, but the man had been at least somewhat measured when it came to bedroom play during the early days. Not anymore. After the first couple of weeks the man's idea of warm-up was a lightly lubed finger poked back and forth beneath the dog's nervously twitching tail while he "helpfully" advised, "I'm coming in, pup. Try not to clench up."

Since he was unable to speak Jake couldn't beg or plead or say something to the effect of, "Dude, you have a twelve inch cock! Ease it in gently, asshole!" And since he couldn't and the lusty beagle was too focused on his own needs to stop and think about it, the man would push forward as though he had every right to claim the lad's burning, agonized hole. Which, on paper, he did. The time from initial penetration to being fully embedded typically took less than ten seconds and the beagle didn't check in on his pet until after the "touchdown" had completed and the thrusting had already started.

"Doing okay, boy? You're so pretty when you're stretched around my cock like this. Look at how wide that twitching ring gets. Damn you're sexy, Blue-Balls."

It struck the husky as absurd that the man got to fuck him every day -- multiple times a day -- while he wasn't allowed to get off or even grow erect. How was that fair, he'd mentally whine to himself while he was being fucked, the beagle's hands wandering all over his body like they were in a petting zoo. His caged balls felt fit to burst but the man never even acknowledged them. Which was funny, because generally speaking the older man wouldn't shut up during sex.

"Look in the mirror," the man might say, pulling Jake's head up so that the dog couldn't help but look straight ahead. "Look at that slutty expression you're making. You love giving yourself to daddy. Taking me in deeper than anyone has ever taken you. I know it's big and you're still not used to it, but you're being such a brave pup. No one else has been able to take me like this. It's like you were made just for me, BB. Look at your face and tell me that's not the case. That you're not enjoying every moment of this."

And that's when hit Jake. The submission. The humiliation. The huge shaft demanded his attention and respect. The dirty talking. Being forced to watch himself in the mirror as he was taken. The fact that Mr. Peabody's real-life doppelganger was brutally fucking him. The helplessness, powerlessness, and the weeks of pent up need. In that moment it all came together as he felt his breathing deepen and his caged balls pull up. And then he knew: He was going to cum. His member might be cramped, caged, and soft but it didn't matter because he was still going to cum. And that beagle's stupidly large cock was going to get him there as it pounded away at his ass without pity or mercy.

But just as Jake's breath caught his throat as he prepared to release weeks' worth of pent up puppy cum, the cage clamped down, crushing his balls in a vice-like grip as it released a truly unpleasant electrical discharge right into his chastised package. The husky's startled bark didn't even make it out of his slightly drooling muzzle before his orgasm got stopped in its tracks, having barely even begun the process of leaving the station.

Mr. Carson experienced this phenomenon as a delightful, rhythmic clenching of the puppy's ass which had the immediate effect of triggering his own orgasm. A free man's orgasm that was exquisite and pleasurable and didn't have anything to do with ball crushing or savage shock treatment. And so Mr. Carson fucked the dog even harder as the stunned dog struggled to piece together what had just happened to him. He'd been just about to "enjoy" a hands-free, soft-cocked, semi-ruined orgasm when pain had lanced through him -- right in the cock and balls. He'd been so close and now... nothing. The moment wasn't just gone, it had been shattered apart. Taken from him.

"Oh, look at that. I just got a text from your smart-cage. The device says it detected that your arousal exceeded the pre-set threshold and took humane preventative measures to stop a potential accidental discharge. That's really something! Isn't technology amazing?"

Jake wanted to get angry. Indignantly righteous. He wanted to stand up for himself and say "enough is enough". He wanted to tell the clueless beagle where to stick it.

But, that wasn't what he was feeling at that moment. Against all odds and certainly against his better judgment, the husky was relishing the utter humiliation. The man who had been an accessory in turning him into literal property had just fucked him silly, dirty talked him, loaded his ass up with hot cum, and was now making light of the fact that he'd just been denied even the tiniest of consolation prizes of a hands-free, erection-free orgasm. This same man who was still buried balls-deep in his ass. Sack aching, face flushed, Jake felt like a complete slut.

And... a part of him liked the feeling. A surge of pleasure washed through him as he took a tiny step towards embracing his inner submissive. He'd just given this middle-aged man the fuck of his life and the guy was treating him like a sweet, dumb, horny puppy. Jake didn't think he could be brought any lower. So why had this humiliation been enough to nearly tip him over the edge?

Mr. Carson wasn't aware of any of this internal conflict as he pulled out with a squelch, fell onto the bed, stretched out and said, "Alright BB, you know what comes next. Clean up your mess, pup."

Jake felt charged with sexual energy as he moved to obey, stunned at his own limp-dicked compliance. The man wasn't going to let him cum. Not today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon. But now he was going to use his well-trained sex toy of a mouth to lick the man's frothy, spent cum up. Before he got to work the husky paused for a moment to take in the sight.

The panting man's semen-streaked tube was already beginning to shrink. The sizable member was spent and satisfied and unlike Jake's caged unit it had gotten to cum. And before the day was out it would probably get to shoot two or three more times. That was the man's right. His privilege. Whereas Blue-Balls "privilege" was to deal with the aftermath. To lick up the dregs.

The distracted dog nearly lept out of his fur when he felt the man's hands cup the sides of his muzzle.

"I know, boy. Not every part of being a puppy is exciting or glamorous, is it? But we all have our part to play and this is yours. So be a good boy and clean your plate. Daddy doesn't like being left sticky after using his pup."

Not seeing an alternative, Jake fell back on his training and got to work.

"That's right, lap up every drop. Clean me up good and then maybe we'll head into the kitchen and see about rustling up a snack. Maybe baby carrots and ranch. You'd like that, wouldn't you?

Consumed by need that hadn't been sated by his aborted, stolen climax, Blue-Balls didn't just lick the man clean -- he started sucking on the still mostly hard member. This made Mr. Carson grunted and squirm in discomfort as his sensitive stalk was slurped and worked over.

"BB? Daddy's member is a bit tender right now and you're licking too firmly. I'm not ready to... I can't..."

Jake just ignored the man and kept right on sucking. Later the dog would try to pretend to himself that he'd been trying to "teach the man a lesson" but the truth was his inner slut had taken over. The pent-up canine needed cock and the beagle was going to give it to him.

As for the owner of said cock, Mr. Carson was experiencing conflicting needs and desires as his just-cum dick was aggressively sucked back to full rigor. Eventually the older man decided to let the puppy have its treat.

"Alright, boy... If this is what you need, then do what you have to do. Just this once, I won't interfere," the man said, his voice tense as his balls complained that it was much too soon to go another round.

In the end, Jake didn't take "no" for an answer. Nearly thirty minutes of sucking, licking, and tongue-probing later, Mr. Carson whimpered as his sack was compelled to produce a second back-to-back load.

After that, the beagle immediately put a stop to the husky's sucking. Enough was enough!

"That was, ahh... intense, puppy," Mr. Carson said, catching his breath. "I'll admit I was never brave enough to try 'milking' before. I'm, uhhh, glad we tried it once, but no more of that. I don't think my heart could take it! From now on, daddy will decide when it's time to have fun. Call me boring and vanilla, but just normal, regular orgasms are fine by me, thank you very much."

Jake gave the man a dead-pan stare, laid down on his side, and raised one back leg up into the air to grant his owner a clear view of his chastity belt. Even the sometimes dense beagle couldn't misinterpret the dog's meaning.

"Very cute. But don't twist my words, Blue-Balls. You know very well I was speaking for myself and my own needs. Your puppy parts are right where they're supposed to be and right in the state they're supposed to be in. Or didn't you think I noticed how much sweeter and more snuggly you've been lately? We've got your locked up balls to thank for that. Now, let's go wrangle up some food.

Things fell into a somewhat regular pattern after that as Jake and Mr. Carson continued to build their life around one another.

Before Jake knew it, three more months had passed. And it was that weekend in the park where the puppy encountered -- and missed -- his single greatest opportunity to undo the damage and havoc Marcus had wrought over his once typical life.

What happened that weekend was a moment Jake would continue to replay in his head for many years to come.

The series of unpredictable events began when the husky spotted one of his best friends from highschool walking casually nearby, heading in the opposite direction. The zebra's name was Lucas and they'd hung out countless times over the years -- playing video games, listening to music, and complaining about anything and everything.

They hadn't done a good job of keeping in touch after highschool and Jake hadn't seen him in over two years, but the dog would recognize the other boy anywhere.

Before he even considered what his plan was, the off-leash puppy charged at his longtime friend like a fur-missile, jumping up so that his front two paws were on the zebra's chest as he excitedly barked up a storm.

"Lucas!" Jake tried and failed to shout. "Lucas, it's me! Jake! You have to call my parents and tell them I'm here! You have to call the police! Lucas, help me!"

But all that came out of the canine's muzzle was a series of sharp, high-pitched whines and barks.

Right behind Jake was a flustered Mr. Carson who expertly latched a leash on Blue-Balls and tugged him off the alarmed young man and onto the ground.

"Sorry about that! Guess my pup is a little excitable today. He's usually much better behaved."

The zebra laughed, placing a hand over his own chest as if to pantomime having a heart-attack. But he was grinning as he did so to make it clear that he was making a joke.

"No worries, dude! Cute dog, by the way. What's his name."

Jake couldn't believe what he was hearing. Did Lucas not recognize him? Even being four-legged instead of two-legged, it couldn't be that big of a change, right? He was still Jake! And he'd recognized Lucas in a heartbeat.

But the zebra stared right through him like he was looking at a complete stranger.

"Blue-Balls. BB for short," the beagle said, moving slightly to get out of an annoyed couple's jogging path.

"Blue-Balls? For real? Oh, I see. He's caged up, is he?"

The dog blushed as he realized that he was standing naked in front of his friend. His mercifully subtle chastity cage was on full display, along with the rest of him.

"That he is -- nice and tight. Helps keep him in the right puppy mindset."

The zebra chuckled, now paying more attention to Mr. Carson than he was at the alarmed-but-still-hopeful dog.

"In it for the long haul, is he? Kinky pup! Well, maybe he charged me because he thought I was cute then! Haha."

"A handsome lad like you, I'm sure he thought you were very cute. Care to try his mouth? It's the least he could do after charging you like."

Jake couldn't believe what he was hearing. This couldn't really be happening, could it? Lucas was supposed to save him. To see his friend's imploring expression and realize that the husky needed help.

"Well..."

The dog's stomach tightened and lurched as the botched escape attempt careened even further off the rails. No... Not Lucas. Not like this!

Stunned and out-of-sorts as he was, Jake didn't resist as Mr. Carson pulled his mouth open to show the curious, and clearly at least somewhat interested other boy.

"Come on, doesn't this mouth look warm and inviting? And doesn't BB owe you, for scaring the piss out of you?"

For a long moment that seemed to stretch out into eternity, Lucas seemed to really be considering the man's offer to enjoy his trained puppy. Which shouldn't have surprised Jake considering what a horndog his friend was, but... Couldn't Lucas see him? Why did the zebra only see Blue-Balls the puppy and not Jake his close friend? Couldn't he just open his eyes for one moment and see what was right in front of him?!

But finally, to the husky's tremendous relief his friend shook his head.

"On another day, I'd have totally gone for it. But I got some friends who are already waiting for me. Still, I appreciate it! Flattering offer. I got to jet but you two have a lovely day! It was really nice to meet you and your dog."

Mr. Carson shook the zebra's hand as he said, "It was nice to meet you too, young man."

And then, just like that, Lucas was off and gone. He had literally turned his back and walked away from the husky. Jake felt absolutely crushed.

"Come on, boy. Let's head this way," the beagle said, leash still in hand as he guided the dazed pup off and slightly away from the path to a shady spot just between a trio of dense bushes.

"I'll be honest, seeing you chase after that younger man made me a little jealous, BB. You're going to stay nice and quiet while daddy reminds you who owns this hole."

Still caught up in what had transpired moments ago, Jake didn't notice what the beagle was doing until he felt a sharp but familiar ache beneath his tail as the man pushed into him. The man who was kneeling behind an only mostly obscuring bush and fucking him right in the middle of the park.

The husky tried to pull away but a sharp tug on his leash kept him right where he was as twelve inches of beagle cock began its uncomfortable but relentless penetration of him.

Jake whimpered at the sharp pain of being taken too quickly and without enough preparation.

"Shhh, boy. Quiet yourself before you get us noticed and kicked out of the park. I won't take long, I promise. The thought of that zebra ravishing you just... Well, this will be quick."

And that's when Jake saw them. All four of them. Not just Lucas but Rebecca and Kyle and Samantha too. All former friends from highschool, though the young man had been closest to the zebra by far.

They were coming back around the winding path, just feet away. And the distance between the group and Jake was closing by the second. He could call out to them -- or rather, bark. It would be easy. They were obscured but not perfectly hidden. And if he created a loud enough ruckus he might be able to get the group to take a closer look.

Suddenly the husky couldn't have been more aware of the beagle cock straining his asshole. That he was a four-legged pet in the shameful position of being actively fucked.

He pictured them coming over to check on the noise -- all four of them. Jake imagined the looks on their faces as they saw a dog getting long-dicked by a much older gentleman. And while surely at least one of the four would recognize him, without his voice he wouldn't be able to explain himself.

It all added up to be an impossible situation, and the canine couldn't decide what to do. He had to decide fast but this idiot beagle's cock was shoved up his ass and--!

And just like that, it was too late. In that moment of hesitation, the group of talking friends had passed the husky and his owner, taking them out of sight. They'd be entirely unaware that Jake had been there or what had been going on just a few scant feet away from them. Pride had cost him his chance for freedom.

But exactly what pride did he have left, Jake was left to wonder as Mr. Carson went right on fucking him.

The youth realized he'd made a huge mistake. He should have called out to them. Even if they saw him in this sorry state, at least he'd have been saved. There was no way all four of them would have been as oblivious and distracted as Lucas. But it was too late now.

Jake tried to tell himself that not all was lost. There'd be other chances to escape. To encounter people he knew before the fox had gotten his hands on him. But the husky didn't really believe that. In his gut, he knew that had been a one-in-a-million opportunity and he'd just totally, irredeemably blown it.

What were the odds of encountering not one but four people who knew him, all the way out here? And they'd been so close. They'd been right there. What had he done?

And then Mr. Carson grunted, the man filling him with seed. Jake gurgled as the man pulled on the leash at the same time which tightened the collar around his throat.

A few seconds later and it was all over, the beagle dragged his cum-slicked member out before he replaced it with a fur-colored plug he kept on his person for just such occasions.

"Alright, let's head home for the day. I think I'm too worn out for anymore walking. We'll have a snack when we get back and then maybe later today we'll work on your deepthroating."

Suddenly very aware that they were out in public, Mr. Carson stuffed his cock back into his pants rather than making Blue-Balls lap up the mess first.

As they made their way back towards the car, Jake walked in a stupefied, disbelieving daze. All he could think about was that he should have barked. He should have raised holy-hell and called his friends' attention to him, whatever loss of face or embarrassment it caused him. How could he have been so stupid?

Would they have stopped and checked things out? Would they have recognized him? Would they have taken the time to look into matters to see how Jake the barista had turned into Blue-Balls the puppy?

Jake didn't know. And now he would never know.

Later that day the husky still hadn't forgiven himself as he gagged and choked as the beagle shoved the third (but by no means final) dildo down his throat, telling him to be a "good boy" and "open up."

Jake truly didn't understand why he was tolerating this. Why he wasn't fighting back or defending himself, or trying harder to escape. Maybe it was because Mr. Carson wasn't a bad guy, when the man wasn't shoving unreasonably sized things into his holes.

Or maybe it was because he deserved this. Or hell, wanted this. Maybe that's why he hadn't called out to his friends, Jake darkly mused. Maybe he was just a slut-puppy and the beagle was giving him exactly what his secret-heart wanted.

At least he hadn't been forced to suck Lucas off, he considered as Mr. Carson continued to stretch out his throat. Then again, he remembered having a bit of a crush on the zebra, during their first couple years of friendship. Would that have really been so bad? He might have enjoyed it. Especially since it had been so long since...

Fuck but he needed to get off, Jake despaired. Now he was getting so horny that he was fantasizing about his best buddies from school taking his mouth for a ride.

But release wouldn't come the husky's way several more months, at the time of the New Years Eve gathering that Mr. Carson was hosting at his house. By that point Jake had been Mr. Carson's property (and chaste) for the better part of a year and true to the beagle's predictions, the now twenty-two year old felt sexually charged and frustrated on a level he'd never experienced before.

This was the first time the puppy had been introduced to so many of the mature man's friends and the puppy and owner spent several hours speaking with guests (with Mr. Carson doing all the talking) as the beagle explained to his pet how he'd met the guests while sharing some stories from their past.

Mr. Carson seemed determined to introduce the husky to each of his two dozen or so guests and, not having much say in the matter, Blue-Balls patiently tolerated head pats, pets, rubdowns, head scritches, and chin strokes as everyone at the party universally agreed that he was a handsome, very good boy.

It had been a while since Jake attended a party but he didn't spot anyone his age at the social gathering. This suited the husky just fine because he didn't want boys and girls his age to see him in such a state. Was it really better that men and women in their forties and fifties saw and pet and baby-talked him instead? Jake wasn't sure about that, but at least it felt marginally less humiliating.

That was, until midnight rolled around.

A semi-drunk Mr. Carson had finished a short but heartfelt speech about appreciating friendship and companionship more and more, the older he got. Then, looking at the clock that was fast approaching midnight, he invited everyone to gather around in the living room with their champagne glass as they prepared themselves to ring in the new year.

Jake only realized something was going on after the final countdown had already started, when he noticed that all eyes were on him as he stood on all fours in the middle of the room. Even Mr. Carson was looking down at him, a mischievous smile on the man's face.

That's when it happened. Upon the chanting, cheering crowd hitting "Zero! Happy New Year!" the beagle reached into his pocket and pressed a button. That's when the plug shoved up Jake's ass for the better part of the evening released a potent discharge directly into his prostate.

As the merry crowd cheered and toasted and clapped, they all watched as the wide-eyed husky blasted months of stored up cum directly out of his chastity cage and onto the floor. The orgasm caught Jake completely off guard and at first he wasn't even sure what was happening. Only that the intense sensation felt like nothing he'd ever experienced before as he howled his release.

Gradually it dawned on the puppy that he'd been forced to squirt in front of a crowd of people -- his first climax in over half a year -- and they were all cheering and clapping for him, raising their glasses in his "honor". All of this without so much a word of forewarning or even being allowed an erection.

Jake had never felt more humiliated in his life but the crowd was thrilled for him, petting him and chanting his name and telling him what a "good boy" he was. Meanwhile, directly beneath the now trembling husky was a large puddle of doggie cum.

Suddenly Mr. Carson was kneeling by his side, who took the husky by the chin to make the boy look directly into his kind, smiling eyes.

"Thank you for making last year so great, BB. And I'm sure this new year will be even better. I hope you enjoyed your release because it sounds like our guests certainly did."

And then the beagle leaned in close to whisper, "After my friends head home for the night, you can help daddy with his release. I'm not used to having to keep my hands off you for so long and I'm practically ready to burst out of my pants."

That's when Jake understood that his owner had no plans to take him out of his cage. Not even temporarily or for special occasions. Cum still cooling on the ground beneath him, the overwhelmed dog realized that it might be a long, long time before he experienced another erection.

Which wasn't quite true because just a little over an hour later he experienced his master's erection as he was pounded deep and hard. As the husky tried hard not to remember what it had been like to blast his load in front of all those people (some of whom had their phones out recording, Jake recalled) the very drunk beagle grunted outrageous things into his burning ear.

What followed next was a thirty year journey for Jake and his owner, Mr. Carson. Thirty years of ups and downs. Of adventures and triumphs and setbacks. Thirty years of special occasions and love and lust.

Over the years the two males became increasingly comfortable with one another and in each other's presence. So much so that by the second year the beagle had no problem watching porn and jerking off in front of the chastised, and deeply annoyed, puppy. That said, sex wasn't all one-sided between the pair as Blue-Balls gradually learned to derive true pleasure from bottoming for his massively endowed owner.

Jake, for his part, never really grew used to being kept sexually frustrated and strictly cum controlled but he did learn to make his peace with it, after a fashion. Over time the ever-present ball ache felt less like a punishment or a torture and more like an immutable reality. Blue-Balls shouldered the physical and mental burden of having months of unspent cum for the simple reason that he had no other alternative.

There was one silver lining in that being horny around the clock made serving the ever-randy Mr. Carson a good deal easier. Foreplay was less of a concern because BB was always "in the mood". He went to bed in the mood, woke up in the mood, and spent all of his waking hours in the mood. Jake was always down to fuck -- he was just never allowed to. It was always him taking it, by the beagle himself or whoever the man wanted to see him fucked by. His once proud nine inch cock never even made so much as a guest appearance in their love life.

Starting during the third year, the husky was loaned out to the man's friends too, from time to time. Jake kept hoping that one of them would secretly break the rules and grant him an illicit orgasm -- or even better: let him top -- but none of the men ever did. The youth figured this was most likely because the high-tech chastity device would have alerted the beagle regarding any attempt to bypass it or take it off. Plus, if they were good enough friends with the man to be loaned Mr. Carson's highly trained, sexually proficient puppy, they were likely to be both aware and respectful of the man's "red lines."

The years ticked by slowly but not unhappily for Jake and Mr. Carson. Sex and sexual frustration were constant factors of the husky's life but the shock factor largely wore off by the end of year three. By then the twenty-four year old had a good idea about how he was going to be used, how often, and by who.

To his credit, Jeremy Carson never tired of his pet. He never ignored him or took him for granted or forgot to plan "fun things" for the puppy to do. And while the man would never, ever admit it outloud, he knew that depriving the boy of erections and only granting him a small number of orgasms a year was an... "unequitable" thing to do to the boy. It was perhaps for this reason that the older gentleman tried to be as generous and affectionate as possible, in other areas.

Why was the man so intent on keeping Jake "crawling up the wall" with sexual need? Mr. Carson likely would have struggled to answer that question, had Jake ever been to put the query to the man (which of course he could not). The beagle probably didn't even fully understand the impulse -- the need -- himself. But it might have had something to do with what the act of denial represented, which was: True sacrifice.

Because the beautiful husky didn't own any property, and never would. He didn't have an income or make money. No will or living estate papers would ever need to be drafted for the boy. He was penniless and without wealth. But he did have one thing he could offer his owner. One special thing that a horny young boy holds most important above all else: His desire. His sexual needs. His libido.

And so, that's what the otherwise kind and generous beagle instinctively demanded that he offer up. By living in a state of fuck-lust, Blue-Balls told his owner (without speaking) that the man was important to him. More important than cumming. More important than relief.

Was this effect cheapened somewhat by the involuntary nature of such a sacrifice? Perhaps. But who ever claimed that love and affection were rational emotions? Besides, Mr. Carson likely would have said that he was doing the puppy a favor, by taking rather than asking the boy to volunteer his primal needs. Besides, when you're the owner and call the shots, "asking" and "telling" are fairly well the same thing, the man might argue.

But as touched on above, the white furred canine did not probe too deeply into his own motivations. Perhaps for the straightforward reason that deep down he knew his decision could not be rationalized or justified. That he had taken a male in his sexual prime and turned him into an object of fetish and reverence. That said, what he did know was that he never got tired of seeing the fire of desire burning in the younger, more attractive husky's eyes.

He understood himself to be a flawed, unremarkable man who was nearing his fiftieth birthday. Which meant that a boy as pretty and full of life as Blue-Balls should have next to no interest in him. And yet, the boy loved him. He could see it in the way the puppy became excited and excitable when he came home. He could tell from the way the dog curled up against him or laid at his feet while they were relaxing in the common area. In the way the pup listened intently to him as he talked about his day or shared stories from his past.

And if he needed any further proof, he could see it from the beseeching, devoted look in the youth's eyes whenever the puppy gave his owner a blowjob. Because BB didn't just service him -- the husky made love to him. And the love they shared grew stronger as the years ticked by.

Was Jake's life with Mr. Carson perfect? No. Would the young man have strongly preferred to have been occasionally allowed to use his own cock in bed and elsewhere? Without a doubt. But things were good -- and oftentimes far better than good. The man and pup were happy, and remained happy for a great many years.

Jake did indeed come to love his kind, patient, sweet-heart of a master. And Mr. Carson easily and effortlessly reciprocated this love. The "couple" made love nearly every day (which was far more to the beagle's benefit than to the husky's) and were bound together in a comfortable, durable intimacy. The puppy rarely needed to be corrected or punished and the owner likewise rarely pushed Blue-Balls too far beyond his comfort zone (once the man had established a baseline expectation, that is to say).

BB and Mr. Carson were always seen together in the neighborhood and were liked and respected by everyone they met. And though Jake was sometimes taken advantage of by others (largely due to his inability to later speak to what occurred) these occasions tended to be more "playful" than "egregious".

Though, the husky might take issue with that characterization. Mr. Carson had one draconic friend in particular that the boy despised being lent to, if only because the man kept insisting on pissing in the dog's water bowl before forcing the pup to drink. It also didn't help that the dragon seemed to view rimming as less of a sex act and more of a marathon sport, with Jake spending literally hours of time buried between the demanding man's muscular, enema-cleaned cheeks while the man rewatched his favorite movies.

Movies which were made all the better by an enthusiastic dog tongue up his ass, the dragon would later claim. (Jake also failed to see the reason to record these boring hours-long rimming sessions -- much less set up camera from three different angles -- but Mr. Carson's friend didn't bother to justify himself to the dog)

But it wasn't just Dedric the dragon who enjoyed "dog sitting" his friend's pet but also Renald the lion, Shepard the ram, Matt the zebra (who reminded Jake of his friend Lucas), and many others. These close friends of Mr. Carson tried to be very careful and respectful of the man's property even as they banged the former barista like a drum. Though some (like the dragon) used the husky for sexual experiences that went beyond simple fucking. The beagle didn't mind as long as they returned Jake on time and thoroughly washed, inside and out.

What followed next for Jeremy and Jake was many years of intimacy, friendship, and service. And though the two men would never share a two-way conversation or even a passionate candle-lit kiss, the man and his pup did share a love. The love of an owner for his handsome, affectionate pet, and the forbidden, shame-filled love of a pet for his kind, regrettably big-dicked owner.

Jake the husky never saw Marcus Donigan ever again, though he thought about the fox every day for the rest of his life. And while he never forgave the man for what he did, the puppy did eventually come around on accepting Marcus' advice. Blue-Balls learned to let go of the resentment and anger he'd been holding onto and to accept his new life as a pet. He still hoped that the fox would get hit by a car, though. So maybe some lingering resentment remained.

One aspect of his new life that the husky never did stop hating was the cage that kept his masculine bits cramped, soft, and frustrated. Throughout his life the perpetually horny puppy worked tirelessly to earn rare prostate milkings, much to the beagle's delight. Jeremy wasn't stupid and saw right through the younger boy's motivations, but he wasn't troubled or bothered. Many dogs were food motivated. His pup was orgasm motivated. Understanding and appreciating this about Blue-Balls made it that much easier for the man to keep his pet on the straight and narrow.

Just as Marcus had predicted, Jake never experienced another blowjob, nor was he ever permitted to mount and breed another person or puppy. His unfortunately rare "release sessions" typically came in form squirting his seed in front of a crowd of cheering, clapping people -- Mr. Carson's closest friends. Usually while standing over a bucket, or a plastic tarp, in the bathtub, and always while caged.

And while the husky did experience a handful of erections over the years (most often while his cage was removed for repair, cleaning or upgrades), not once were his plug-induced prostate milkings accompanied by a hard-on. When Blue-Balls came, he came soft -- and often with a couple dozen half-drunk onlookers watching and whistling to "celebrate" the rare event.

These relief sessions were brief, abrupt, humiliating, and deeply unsatisfying to the boy who desperately wished his owner would just give him a simple handjob rather than have an oversized plug attack his prostate with high-intensity shocks and vibrations. But milkings were better than no orgasms at all, and the husky took what he could get. He certainly felt he'd more than earned them considering Mr. Carson experienced hundreds of climaxes for each singular milking Jake was "gifted". (Not to mention the work the husky put in to get the beagle's friends off)

As for Mr. Carson, the short "Mr. Peabody" lookalike never again went more than a couple days without getting off from using his beloved pet. He would go on to fuck Blue-Balls thousands of times in the years to come until he eventually passed away peacefully in his sleep at the age of seventy-six. The man slipped off to the here-after having just fucked the husky full of cum a few hours earlier. Jake suspected that something might be wrong when he heard how hard the man labored to breath while breeding him. But as a puppy there was nothing Jake could do except hope that he was wrong. That very night Jeremy Carson died happy and fulfilled, having enjoyed a long life that had been well lived.

The husky missed his long-time owner and master dearly but was thankful for the many years they'd been able to spend together. Jake had a few major regrets in his life (trusting Marcus, spending so much time caged and horny, and never finding a way to avoid having to rim that smiling, arrogant dragon prick again and again, to name a few) but after his master passed, BB found that his one "big regret" was that he'd never been able to have a real heart-to-heart conversation with the beagle. But he supposed that as far as regrets went, it wasn't the worst. The dog was confident that Mr. Carson had slipped away already knowing his pup's true feelings. So what else needed to be said, really?

Except, maybe the puppy would have also asked the man if he had chosen to wear those big round glasses to purposefully channel Mr. Peabody. Did Mr. Carson even know who that character was?! Did he understand how humiliating it was for Jake to be topped and dommed by an eerily similar lookalike of that "daddy" cartoon character? But the puppy had never been able to ask and now never would.

What happened to Jake after that, you might ask? Per Mr. Carson's final will, the fifty-something (but still quite healthy and handsome) puppy was bequeathed to the beagle's grandson. To say that the young man was shocked to receive such a gift would be quite the understatement. A week later the boy came into possession of a hand-written letter, penned by his grandfather a few months prior, which went a good way towards explaining the basics of the situation -- though the college-aged beagle was left with many questions that would never be fully answered.

As for what happened after that... Well, some things are best left to the imagination. All I will say is that the grandson disproved the oft-repeated saying that "You can't teach old dogs new tricks." I can also confirm that Jake managed to earn himself several more orgasms in the years that followed. Still, Blue-Balls couldn't help but notice that the grandson wasn't quite as generous as his original long-time owner when it came to release schedule. Not that there was much the husky could do about it.

Were he alive to see it, Grandpa Carson would have been proud of his grandson's high standards and demanding expectations. And he would have been equally proud that his grandson had inherited his prodigious size. Jake himself couldn't help but note the similarities as he grunted in discomfort while being bred, the boy fucking him long and hard, just as the lad's grandfather used to do. Neither of the Carsons had used enough lube in the husky's view but like the rest of his views and thoughts, this was an opinion he never was able to share.

The similarities between grandson and grandfather didn't stop there, as the dog found out for himself as the beagle grew increasingly comfortable in making full use of his inheritance. For example, wholly independent from one another both men developed a liking to fucking the husky in front of large mirrors, making the chastised male watch himself get bred as his face contorted in an involuntary grimace at being stretched so obscenely wide.

As Jake learned and re-learned many times over the years, when you're a puppy you have little choice but to bend over and take things as they come. Sometimes that meant being captured, trained, and sold. Sometimes that meant being recorded and photographed in public while being forced to do unspeakably humiliating things. And sometimes that meant taking a twenty year old beagle's eleven-and-a-half inch, barely lubed cock hard and fast down to the base, over and over again as the boy grunted in his ear to stay quiet because he wasn't allowed to keep pets in his college apartment.

The husky knew better than to complain or fight back. By surrendering he could at least hold out hope that he might be milked once or twice a year. Besides, over the years he'd developed something of a taste for extra large beagle cock. He just wished that the boy didn't insist on "live streaming" his deepthroating prowess -- though he wasn't one-hundred percent confident what "live streaming" meant. Apparently it had something to do with "supporters" and "donations" but the college boy never bothered to explain any of this to the fifty-something year old pet.

The always-horny husky just did his best to tune out and ignore the multiple cameras facing towards the young beagle's bed as he licked, sucked, slurped, and got fucked. After all, having cameras pointed at him was nothing new for him. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself as he helped the grandson pay down his college debt, one "live stream" at a time. He supposed it made him feel good to be useful. He just wished the grandson wouldn't use such crass, derogatory language towards him while there were people watching. Mr. Carson had used to dirty talk too but the young beagle's language tended to be more personally insulting of Jake.

As Blue-Balls served his new master, a small, tiny voice in the back of his head tried to tell him that after thirty years of service, he shouldn't have to put up with being used like this anymore. This same voice tried to convince him that he should be free to go where he pleased and do as he wanted. To talk and walk and play with himself. It whined that a middle-aged man should be allowed to grow erect and cum when mood struck them and that they certainly shouldn't be the owned property of some know-nothing college boy.

But despite some part of him feeling this way, he couldn't manage to feel as fiery or passionate about it as he had when he was younger. Mostly he just felt tired. Not physically. Emotionally. It seemed like he had fought and lost that battle a long time ago. Thirty years ago. It was difficult to even remember that he'd been free at some point in his life.

Think and pray as he might, all he could manage to do was whimper and bark as the second Carson turned his upraised ass into his personal playground -- just as his grandfather had done. It wasn't fair, was it? That these men got to fuck and cum as much as they liked, and he just had to sit there and take it. And Mr. Carson's grandson liked to cum a lot. He was even randier than the old man even.

"Maybe Marcus was right", Jake thought as his use and exploitation was streamed to thousands of appreciative viewers who were silently cheering the sweating, dirty-talking beagle on. "Maybe puppy-sluts like me aren't meant to be free."

But the puppy kept his handsome face pointed towards the forward camera, as he'd been told. He was a good boy who'd been taught the ropes by one of the best trainers to have ever lived, and who had those lessons driven home by his hugely endowed owner. The owner who he had loved and who he missed each and every day.

Jake knew his embarrassment didn't matter. His long-dormant dick didn't matter. His heavy, aching balls that the boy had begun hanging cylindrical weights from didn't matter. Only the far younger beagle's pleasure mattered. But by the gods, he just wished these Carson men weren't so fucking thick. Or at the very least, that they didn't breed him like they were trying to break him.

The husky grunted in discomfort as the porn-star hung grandson pitilessly shoved balls deep into his ass. It hurt because the young brat was even less considerate when it came to sex than his grandfather -- and that was saying something! And yet... the boy was reaching a needy, aching place deep inside of him. A slutty place that got off on the abuse and lack of control and--!

And then he spasmed and twitched as his chastity cage came alive, shocking his middle-aged cock just as strongly and unhesitantly as it had done when he'd been twenty one. But the frustrated husky welcomed the pain because it reminded him of his dearly departed former owner.

As much as Blue-Balls wanted to cum, he'd have given up all his future orgasms in a heartbeat if he could spend just one more day with his master, Mr. Carson. The pup hoped that the afterlife was a real thing so that he could be reunited with his owner in the great beyond. He just prayed that the man permitted him to cum more often in heaven than he had down here on earth.

But if he was being honest with himself, Jake didn't expect that to be the case. The older beagle was a fair but strict man and he'd firmly believed that the husky behaved best when he was only allowed a few squirts a year. A stance the man had maintained right up to the day he'd died. The husky didn't see the man changing his tune just because they'd reached the other side of the rainbow bridge.

Which left the dog with an odd thought. When the grandson eventually passed away, would he have two masters up in heaven? Would the two men share him? What if they both wanted to use him at the same time? Did heaven even allow incest? The pup wasn't sure how that was supposed to work but he was glad it wouldn't be on him to figure out. After all, he was just a simple-minded puppy. All he needed to do was bend over whenever and wherever they told him, and the two Carsons would take care of the rest.

The thought put a smile on his face even as his ass continued to burn from the younger dog's frenetic pounding. But the smile grew tight as the boy hung yet another weight from the husky's increasingly distressed balls (which were now outside of his cage due to the boy swapping out his chastity device). The downward force bearing down on his sack was beginning to grow worryingly intense. Jake didn't know what "donation goals" were, but if they had anything to do with the weight that continued to be added to his sack, he really didn't care for them.

Then again, no one had asked him. But if a bit of ball pain and public humiliation helped his new owner pay for college, then he'd push forward and bear it. That's what good doggies did, after all. They worked to make their owner happy, without preconditions or expectations.

============

Thank you for reading the story of Jake, the much-loved blue-balled puppy of Jeremy Carson. Jake and Jeremy shared an unconventional love, but in the end it was true and strong.

And don't worry: The grandson is young, dumb, and more than a bit selfish right now, but I'm sure he'll mature and grow-up over time. It just may take him a few years. But Blue-Balls is still fit and healthy so he'll adapt, I'm sure!

Now onto a couple behind-the-scenes notes:

First: The nano-tech vat procedure had the side effect of slowing down his aging process. So while Jake is in his early fifties at the end of the story, physically he's closer to being in his late thirties or early forties. Blue-Balls himself is unaware of this fact as no one has ever bothered to explain this to him. (Well, no one really bothers to explain much of anything to him, haha)

Ultimately it's a good thing that he's healthier than his age might suggest, because the grandson looks like he's going a bit hard on the dog! But I'm sure the two will find some common ground once the boy gets through his "sowing his oats" phase. Jake just has to hang in there until then.

Second: It's implied in the story but just to provide a bit more background: In this world, and for this particular kink community (the "puppies community"), puppies are always dogs.

Could someone make a bunny or a ram into a four-legged pet? I'm sure they have the technology and that someone in this world has done it. But for this particular community, "puppies" are always dogs. If you were a member of this community and brought a non-dog to a puppy event, it would be like trying to have your cat participate in a Dog Contest. The judges and other members would look at you like you were crazy and shoo you away. Even foxes (who are indeed canines) aren't viewed as valid candidates to be turned into puppies.

Why is this the case? Because of history, culture, and strongly held beliefs on the "trainability and suitability" of dogs. That's just the way this community works in this world. So if you're a cat or a kangaroo or something I guess you don't have to worry about Marcus coming after you, haha. It's the same thing with those who volunteer into the lifestyle. It's a point of pride for the volunteers that they're a "real puppy". They like being the center of attention, special, and in-demand.

I just wanted to explain these bits because they didn't really come up in the story. Thanks!