Devotion - Chapter 3
The first thing he did was turn around to face, and drop down on his knees in front of me; behavior that I was quick to praise him for. I was happy that he wasn't going to make this any harder than it had to be, because it was pretty obvious that if he wanted to, he could've broken me in half rather than let me punish him. I stepped closer, and he immediately tucked his muzzle in against my stomach, whimpering, plaintive and fearful.
"No, Chiot, crying isn't going to get you out of this," I stated evenly, pulling on one of his ears, then standing him up again with my hands under his arms. I turned him around to face away from me, and peeled out the back of his shorts, and the padded diapers he wore underneath to peer down inside at his rump and check him for wetness. He was drenched, of course, and the infantile gesture made him mad. He growled, bared his teeth, and tried to pull away from me. He hated diapers, and his humiliating dependance on them. I didn't falter in the face of his irritation.
"Nuuuh baaay-bee..." he growled again, prompting me to grip the back of the ruffled waistband and pull it up hard between his legs. The cold, wet innards drew up snugly against his rumpcheeks, further marking his fur with traces of his 'accident'. I could hear it slosh and crinkle, drops of wetness darkening the fabric of his already dingy cargo shorts as his diaper leaked. I knew he could feel it dribbling down his thighs; his blush intensified, and he kept fussing in my arms.
"Surely SMELLS like a baby, Chiot," I argued, holding firm despite his obvious discomfort. Soon enough, however, his growls turned to wounded whines, and he quit struggling with me. His entire body heaved with a sigh.
"You know better than to fight with me. You piddled your diapers again -- just like a little puppy. What are we supposed to do about that?" Housebreaking him was still a work in progress; though with very little actual 'progress' to speak of.
He grunted. Hmf. I didn't expect to be given an answer. Finally letting go of his rump, I took the big dog firmly under the arms, and laid him down on his back. With his cooperation, of course. He laid like a good boy, though, and I took a moment to spread his thighs out before starting to open up and unzip his shorts.
"Does puppy need his diapers changed?" I asked him, prompting another bit of struggling on his back, kicking his feet, and a firm blush. He didn't answer me, save for a growly little whine. The wet spot on the front of his shorts grew and darkened, and I could smell him leaking from the back of his diaper as well. The shorts would only hold absorb so much before he started dripping on my carpet.
"Chiot." I gave him a pointed look. "I'm only going to ask you one more time. If you don't answer me one way or the other, I'm going to assume you're okay, and you'll be wearing that for the rest of the night." He cowered almost imperceptibly at that threat, definitely knowing what all it entailed. "Does puppy need his diapers changed?"
"Yuuhhhssir..." he rumbled after a long moment of fidgeting and hesitation, something he'd obviously rather not admit. I nodded, and started to pull his shorts down the length of his thighs. This made him writhe again, apparently not wanting to be seen in his yellowed diapers, and I popped him on the hip with my bare paw.
"Stop it," I warned, and he complied, though not without a childish glare. I pushed his legs up to raise his wide rump off the ground, pulling his shorts down in the back and on down to his knees before I let him back on the ground. His diapers were thoroughly saturated, and the smell of alpha-dog piss was nearly enough to make my eyes water. The previously white plastic was stained a mild yellow all the way through, and the laden padding slumped heavily against his sheath and balls. I could nearly see the outlines of them through the material.
"Lookit thaaaat..." I teased him in a doting voice, pulling my fingers along his spread thighs and teasing the ruffled leg-guards that were supposed to protect against leaks. My claws crinkled the plastic outer shell covering him up as I indicated each of the babyish prints decorating the front taping panel.
"Who is this, Chiot?" I asked him, largely just to further his embarrassment, but also because deep down I knew he harbored just a little bit of affection for the playful cartoon characters. He obliged, at least, after a long moment of deliberation.
"Goo-feee..." he snarled, laying on his back and enduring the treatment. Goofy was his favorite of the Mouse's companions. The only certain way I knew to keep him out of trouble for any extended period of time was to stick him in front of the television with a Goofy-themed video running on repeat. Even still, he didn't like any of THIS treatment. I, on the other hand, was starting to tent my pants.
"That's right, puppy. Goofy's your favorite, isn't he." As I spoke, I pulled the tapes free. They detached with a sharp, ripping noise and I wiggled his shorts all the way down to his ankles before unfolding the heavy weight of his diaper between his thighs to reveal his huge, yellowed package. His sheath bobbed sluggishly against his belly. The unbridled stench, now, was indeed enough to make my eyes tear up. No doubt Chiot would have made a fine pack alpha one day, if he'd been left to what nature intended instead of broken by the hands of sadistic men.
With his shorts around his ankles, I folded him up again, picking his legs off the groudiand and pushing them back closer to his head to completely expose his muscular, discolored behind. He didn't like it, of course. I knew he felt exposed, and it was embarrassing to have his little pink tailhole turned up in the air as if pleading for a good mounting, but he cooperated and didn't fight with me anymore.
"Stay exactly like this while daddy finds you a new diaper." It was a title I adopted only when he was undergoing humiliation training, though not only because of how effective it was. When I brought my hands away, he lowered a couple of inches, but only because he wasn't that flexible on his own. Beyond that, he stayed right where I left him laying on the sodden seat, reeking of urine, and I got up to trudge off to another room of the house.
I peeked back in on him every so often, taking unneccessarily long; every time I looked, I saw his ankles in the air, and his rump obediently on display, a good pup doing exactly as he'd been told.
Finally, I took mercy on my handsome boy, and returned to his side, carrying with me the supplies for a humiliating process that had become second nature for me. Wincing at the stiffness in my wounded old bones, I crouched down between his thighs, and gave him a firm pat on the behind.
"That's a good boy, Chiot. I'm very proud of you for behaving so well." As I cooed to him like the vastly oversized cub he resembled, I took his ankle and folded him back on himself again. With a warm, wet cloth, I cleaned him up, wiping his rump free of shameful piddle, and paying no mind to his whimpers or harmless struggles when I immodestly rubbed his tailhole, even going so far as to penetrate him with fingers wrapped in soft cloth.
His diaper was tugged free from underneath his bottom, and set aside, still open, swollen and scented with his water. Lowering his legs a bit and spreading his thighs further elicited a sigh of relief from the dog, happy now that his rump was no longer prone and exposed to any prying eyes that might be lurking nearby. I cleaned his thighs, rolled his heavy, fuzzy balls around in my paw, and vigorously rubbed his sheath; of course, no special attention was administered to any of his feel-good parts. Diaper changing time is not meant to be fun for a housebreaking pup.
When I finally had him clean below the waist, I laid his legs down, thighs still spread, and picked up his old diaper. Grasping it delicately, I hunched down over him, hand on his rigid belly, and showed it to him.
"What is this, Chiot?" I asked. No answer, so I repeated myself. He squirmed, and grunted something noncommittal. A third time, finally more firm, garnered a response.
"Hadda gooooo..." he snarled abashedly, looking the other way. I moved the diaper closer to his face, lining facing upwards, barely inches from his nose. He struggling more convincingly, but not even close to hard enough to dislodge me from atop him. Good dog.
"You didn't even TRY to make it out of bed, did you? Just laid their and wet your pampers like a baby." I moved the diaper a little closer, and he recoiled again, this time nearly hard enough to make me fall on top of him. As a result, I lifted up on my knees, gripped the back of his head in one paw, and mashed his snout down into the diaper, rubbing it back and forth and giving him a good feel for how naughty he'd been. Of course, he struggled and cried, tears welling up in his big eyes and trickling down his cheeks.
"You're a big boy, Chiot, and it's time you started acting like one. I'm not going to change your diapers for the rest of my life." I let him go before long, but I knew how his nostrils must be stinging, and the taste wouldn't come out of his mouth. It was nearly sufficient remorse to make me stop right then, but I was determined to teach him a lesson this time. It probably wouldn't be the last time he defied me, but hopefully it'd make him think twice before the next time he brutalized a teenager. I balled the diaper up and set it aside to be disposed of later.
"Turn over on your belly. Keep your chest on the ground, and raise your bottom." I got to my feet as I spoke, straightening out my coat and loosening my belt. His eyes widened when he saw this, and there was no doubt in my mind that he knew what it entailed. Understandably, there was some hesitation on his part, but he ultimately complied. The big dog shifted, squirmed, and clumsily rolled over on his tum. His paws pressed into the ground, his haunches tightened, and I watched as he slowly upended his handsome bottom, giving me a fine view of his ample, fluffy cheeks, and masculine curves.
Pausing, I reached down to grip his tail by the base, and gave it a tug upwards to expose his little, pink pucker once again. He shuddered.
"Tail up." It stayed there. His large ears flickered at the swish and whisper of leather and metal my belt made when I pulled it cleanly free of the rings. I doubled the belt over on itself, taking special care to keep the buckle clear, and popped it a couple of times to ensure everything settled right.
"It starts with twenty right now. If you stay still and accept your punishment like a good dog, I'll stop after twenty." I left what would happen if he DIDN'T stay still to his imagination. He was shivering, but he trusted me to do right by him, and I didn't let his trepidation stop me. I reared back side-armed with the belt, and brought it singing back to lay across his bottom with a resounding crack. His flanks tightened, the flesh wobbled, and immediately began to redden. A second was administered, closer to the other side to ensure an even glow and burn.
After the second, I paused to let him absorb the shock of the blows before spanking him with my belt in earnest. An experienced whipper, I was careful to impact only with the broad part of the belt, avoiding the lacerations the more rigid edges would eventually cause. He was crying again by the fifth. By the tenth, he had his face hidden in his muzzle, trying to keep his yelps and plaintive whimpering to a minimum.
I granted my prostrate dog a brief reprieve while I let my arm rest, and reached down between my legs to 'adjust' a growing problem. It never stopped me from being fair to him, but seeing his body so prone, his ass red and his tailhole completely, shamelessly exposed, submitted to me...well, I guess I've always had a head for these kinds of things. Some sadistic part of me looked forward to what would happen after the spanking.
The return of feeling to my right arm prompted the continuation of my puppy's discipline. Eleven, then twelve and he could no longer keep his tail up. He wriggled forward with every new impact, his flesh stinging and tinted an angry red all through his hindquarters; but I understood. He wasn't used to being hurt.
I crouched down to take hold of the base of his tail, and firmly pull it up out of the way. Doing so prompted the first squirt of wetness from my dick, a dab of slick, slimy pre soaking directly through my slacks. With a tight grip on his tail, I belted him relentlessly, doling out the rest of his punishment in rapid succession. Each swat echoed with a resounding pop, and garnered a pitiful yelp, and tightening of the haunches from Chiot.
Finally, it was done. I didn't let go of his tail for a long moment, though, instead shamelessly admiring the view, as I'd done countless times before with countless deviants and criminals, of a clenched, muscular ass after a firm reddening
He cried, of course, and for a long time too. It hurt him physically, but worse still was the humiliation. He knew very well that spankings were generally reserved for a child, and he knew equally well that despite his antics, he wasn't a child anymore. A grown dog's bottom is to be protected, and hidden under clothes -- not paddled and swaddled in diapers.
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I unzipped my slacks. It made his ears flicker.
"You behaved yourself very well, Chiot, so no more spanking." With that said, I pulled the flaps of my slacks aside, and skinned my sheath back to allow my veiny, red dick freedom. I looked between its lewd, tapered length with the swelling of a knot at the base, and Chiot's ass before I moved in close to him again. I grabbed his tail again, and peeled it off of his ample, red cheeks.
"But now you're going to be retaught your rank here, puppy. You're going to get a very firm lesson on who's the pup, and who's the alpha." Posturing a bit, I crouched down behind him and stroked myself, prompting a spurt of pre to spatter his crack and drip down the backs of his balls. "And you're going to be a good boy and endure it, aren't you?"
"Yuhhhssirr..." He'd mostly quit crying by this point.
Excellent. Drooling more pre on his tight little pucker, shivering as I watched it tense and tighten on reflex, I scooted in close behind him, my pants still up and my shoes still on. Business. Slowly, savoring the feel of such a hulk helpless underneath me, I took a firm grip on his hips, and positioned my throbbing, drooling cockhead square against that bit of softness between two swells of fluffy, red muscle.
Giving him a pull back, sitting up straight behind him, I humped once, twice before hitting my mark, and opening him up. His claws dug into my floors, he groaned and tightened up as I forced my way inside his prone backside. He tried to squeeze me out. I didn't let him. Instead, I crouched over him and sunk deeper, staving my urges and taking it very slow; I wanted him to feel every inch of me, and I only partially hoped he'd learn his lesson and behave from then on.
Any bit of resistance I met in stuffing him was dealt with with a sharp twist of my hips, straightening him out and prompting another grunt of discomfort and constricting of his snug inner walls around my shaft. It didn't stop me, of course. I enjoyed his little noises of protest. I left my mark in him all the way through, spurts of pre further lubing my passage through his anal canal and towards the sensitive lump of his prostate.
It wasn't too long before he felt my knot pressing up against his back door. I didn't tie with him just yet. There were a few seconds pause as I savored the feel of his snug ass gloving my dick in warmth, hugging me on the deepest level possible.
Then I slowly started back out, shuddering from the friction provided, and the way it made him writhe underneath me. There was no doubt in either of our minds, especially his, that he was my bitch, and that I'd do with him as I pleased. As far as he knew, he could only hope I would be fair. I'm fortunate he never saw past that ruse.
I pulled all the way out and sprayed his ass with thick rushes of clear pre-spunk, marking his red cheeks, matting the fur down before thrusting back in far harder this time. His hips jerked forward from the impact, his bottom tightened, and I nearly came on the spot from the rush of power and pleasure that came from hitting my charge just right.
Another, then another, each successive thrust getting harder, the third enough so to scoot him forward on the floor, before I squared up behind him, wrapped my arms tight around his waist, and started to fuck him in earnest.
I mounted him like a bitch in heat, humiliating his burgeoning alpha pride, forcing him to accept his breeding through little stimulation and aggressive grinding. He might've been aroused--it was likely, even, given my driving of his prostate, but his feelings in the matter were long since forgotten by me. I rode the dog long and hard, hips pistoning, sometimes from an angle, sometimes lifting to come straight down on his prostate, balls spanking his wounded ass, and arousal rocketing up by the second.
It was a long time before I decided to tie him, well after the punishment had been forgotten, and powerful lust had come into play. The swelling bulb of flesh bashed into his tailhole with every thrust, forcing him wider and wider with each impact, but it'd never slip in that way. I climbed up and crouched down the length of the shivering ball of malamute's back, my toes and the upper parts of my soles still on the ground, and took a nip at his scruff. He arched up and submitted his neck to me, and I clamped my jaws tight around it.
With a dominant growl and a firm shake of any doggy's weak point, I wrapped tighter around him, and started to pound him in short, quick thrusts. Each one elicited a yelp or a whine, but I felt his pucker stretching wider and wider. I sunk more and more inside him until the widest part sucked inside, and I fell on him hard, my knot firmly lodged inside his ass, solidifying his place as bitch in my house.
The subsequent thrusting was awkward; I had a hard time maintaining any sort of rhythm with his ass squeezing up tight behind my knot as it dragged through his insides. I couldn't hold out much longer anyway.
A few more shivery, shaking spears, and I erupted.
My orgasm was deep and of the toe-curling variety, and like any canid, I had a lot to give. Shot after shot of my hot, sticky seed blasted through his innards, filling him with warmth and my scent, marking him as mine in the most impossibly personal way in the mind of a male dog.
Panting, growling, drooling on his neck, I flooded his guts with cum, enough to create a small swell in his rigid stomach. His sore, abused ass leaked sluggishly, sticky wetness trailing down his crack and the backs of his legs.
I was in Heaven. I'd never felt so satisfied as when I punished Chiot, but it was over, and he now needed to be reminded of how much his daddy loved him.
So I rolled with him to lay on our sides, still tied firmly to him as I would be for the next half-to-three-hours, and patted his swollen belly.
"It's over, Chiot. You were a good boy, and you took your punishment very well. And if you STAY good, then it'll never have to happen again." His whimpering quietened.
"'m sorrrrry..."
"I know. Go to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up."
I wrapped my arms tight around him, and he cuddled back against me. It was a bit awkward, but enough wriggling got me flopped out in a satisfactory position.
"Niiiniiight..." he rumbled, closing his eyes, and ultimately drifting off to sleep. Rough day for my big boy.
"Goodnight, Chiot," I crooned near the back of his head, gently took his scruff in my jaws again, and followed suit.