Editor’s note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
*****
I wanted to be Martin’s boyfriend so bad. He’d been choking me with his dick, holding my head down tight against his warm crotch with egotistical disregard for months. Fit, arrogant, and crazy rich, Martin was the best Grindr score of my life. I thought he’d never want to see me again, but he was always super horny after his gym sessions, and I was a guaranteed blow. I’m still hoping one day he’ll loosen my leash for good and invite me to sleep in his bed for once, but being his dog is absolutely the next best thing in every possible way.
Oh yeah, and when I say I’m his dog I don’t mean a cheeky bit of pup-play every Friday night (tho that is how it started). I mean I’m his dog, mate. Twenty-Four Seven, sleeping in a basket, eating from a bowl on the kitchen floor. I don’t even speak now. It’s been trained out of me. I only bark. Nice and loud like dogs do.
“Nah, I don’t want a boyfriend,” he sniffed after creaming my tonsils and smacking me in the face, “You can be my dog if you like, though.”
“I’ll be your dog!” I jumped, bouncing up onto the mattress where he was slouching, making himself comfortable.
“Dog’s aren’t allowed on the bed!” he snapped, giving me a heavy shove backwards.
I wanted to please him so much I found myself assuming a good sitting dog pose at the end of the bed, my eyes glistening with adoration and guilt.
“That’s more like it,” Martin snorted.
I pushed my nose around on his grubby white socks, sniffing all his sweaty smells. He’s not even the best looking guy. I bet heaps of guys swipe left, thinking his forehead’s too big, or his expression is too smug, or they’re don’t like clean-shaven guys. He doesn’t even wear the right sports brands. It’s always some dorky brand name you never heard of on his polo shirt. But the way he brags, like he’s God’s gift, its so fucking sexy.
Next time he summoned me to his fancy new-build apartment he had a whole bunch of toys. Leashes and collars, a springy dog tail butt-plug. Even squeaky dog toys for me bite on. He was so rich he could buy anything just like that. He didn’t even have a job, just spent his Dad’s money.
I did my best to act like a puppy, which pleased him at the time, but it was nothing compared to what I do for him now. I yapped and scampered about on his floor. Just a bit of fun before he fucked my face again.
Every time there was something new, taking it a step further. Martin had been obsessing over pup-play porn and getting new ideas. Before long, his phone was full of videos of me on my hands and knees, drinking from dog bowls or catching treats thrown my way. Anything to win his approval.
He kept saying he’d drag me outside like that to take me on a walk, and the threat was thrilling until it became a reality.
Got a surprise text at 11pm. Martin never called me that late. He normally quit the gym about 7, and I’d be dismissed a half hour later. Just said,
“Get over here.”
I pulled my sneakers on and came running.
When I got there he was cross. I was used to his moods, he was usually mardy after his workout and I liked it when he was short with me. But this time he seemed proper worked up and bothered. Probably spent hours jerking off over his pup porn and needed to let off some steam.
I let him collar me, bung my butt with that silicone tail, and clip my ankles to my balls with short chains that prevented me from extending my legs and standing tall. We’d done it many times before, but this time we were actually leaving the house.
He belted my poor ass mercilessly, going red in the face, to get me over the threshold and out through the door.
I felt lightheaded and sick in the stomach crouched by Martin’s feet in the elevator, going down with a monumental sense of burgeoning dread. I hoped he was just trying to scare me. That he might pace around in the lobby, make a video, and let me run back into his penthouse on the top floor. But no.
Martin was dead serious about going out into the night. He yanked on my leash, and struck me with his belt. Once he finally got me moving I went fast, trying to get it over with.
Right on his doorstep there’s always big crowd of Men smoking outside the local. They jeered and laughed as I went by on my kneepads and cycling gloves. I heard Martin chat back at the louts, but I couldn’t look and hurried past.
I took a sharp left down the next side street, checking to see if we’d walked far enough, but Martin wanted to go all round the houses. The air was cool all over my bare-naked skin, and my ankles were tugging brutally on my balls. Everything was painful and uncomfortable, and apocalyptically humiliating.
“Can we go back now, please Martin?” I begged pathetically.
But Martin only “shhh-ed” me, putting his earpods in and selecting his dog-walk playlist like a Boss. It seemed to go on forever.
Eventually he stopped me by a bunch of dumpsters with a sudden jerk on the leash. The place reeked of piss, and he told me to pee. I lifted my leg but I couldn’t go. Just then a couple of hot girls came past and screamed with laughter, pointed at my tiny penis and making pictures on their phones. Martin took his earphones out to flirt with them, acting cool like it was nothing special.
When the girls finally moved on he got impatient, threatening the belt if I didn’t piss on the bins,
“Do a dog piss! We’re not going till I’ve seen you pee!”
I managed a little piss and his mood completely changed. I was a good boy again, and Martin seemed chuffed. That’s still his favourite bit of a dog walk, watching me pee.
But our first walk still wasn’t over. As we crossed the green, a gang of hooded lads howled and chased us down.
“That’s fucking sick!” they grinned, snapping their fingers.
“This guy’s a fucking G,” nodded one lad, bumping fists with Martin and turning to his mate, “I’m gonna make you my dog, innit,”
“Fuck off,” his mate complained, “you’d be my dog.”
“Here, take mine,” Martin suggested, puffing on his Marlboro and handing the first lad my leash.
“What? Yes, blud!” he hooted, grabbing his crotch and getting his mates to take pictures on his phone, “I got a Whitey on a fuckin’ leash, Bruv!”
“You should get on Grindr,” Martin suggested, “white boys are all pathetic faggots like that.”
“Nah, mate, nah…” he laughed, but Martin insisted.
“No jokes, they’ll be fighting over each other to be your dog, mate.”
Martin exchanged numbers with them before moving off. Satisfied at last, let me scamper back in the direction of his apartment.
In the quiet of the elevator once more, I could faintly make out Kanye West buzzing in Martin’s earpods. I swear he only listens to that stuff because he heard it was cool. He doesn’t know anything about music, but all the douchey things he does only make him more sexy to me.
“How great would it be if this was your whole life,” Martin chirped as we got back through his front door, “if you were my dog for real.”
“…that would be so fucking awesome,” I gasped, my willy shrinking with shameful excitement.
“There’s guys doing it in the States,” he added.
Turned out he’d going deep into pup-play fetish sites. He found some mad blogs about guys taking it to the next level. Men who kept naked lads in kennels and fed them dog food. It was all he could think about now, and he wanted a boy to be his dog on a permanent basis.
Most of these Mad Lads were living on big farms in the midwest where they could get away with behaviour like that. But Martin found one guy who was keeping a proper dog-boy in the UK. They’d been chatting in some forum.
“Brad says he’ll train you up,” Martin sniffed, “teach you to be a real dog.”
“But you mean like, quit my job?” I trembled.
“Quit your job, move out your flat, sell all your crap. Come and be my dog.”
Was he for real? He wanted me to give up my whole life just to keep his boner up? Would I really ever take my feeble adoration of this total Douche to that level?
It was completely insane, but if Martin wanted a real dog, I wasn’t going to let another boy do it. It HAD to be me.
I handed my notice in at the office and settled my bills. Told my mates I was going travelling and gave away my records and sneakers. Martin never even knew I had a record collection. He didn’t care about my life, never asked me anything about myself. I had to push through so many doubts and fears, wondering if I was crazy. I just wanted to belong to Martin.
Showed up on his doorstep a few weeks later with nothing to my name but the clothes I was standing in.
“All yours…” I muttered tentatively.
“Yeah right,” Martin smirked.
I let him belt my ass to ratify his ownership, and then we got into his nice car and began the day-long journey to Norfolk where Brad was waiting for us.
Hardly said a word the whole way, just listened thoughtlessly to the recommendations on Martin’s lame Spotify. By late afternoon we were a mile off our destination, and Martin pulled over in a country lay-by. Made me strip, flinging my favourite hoodie and limited edition Nike Air Max over a hedge. Everything save my little white ankle socks. Then he bundled me naked into the back seat. Felt so fucking silly and small as our car crunched down the dirt track to Brad’s secluded ranch.
“Wait here,” Martin commanded, slamming the door shut behind him as he strolled forward to meet my new Trainer.
Brad looked so Manly. Guess mid-thirties, with a beard and tattoos. Martin looked like a baby standing next to this model of masculinity. They shook hands and spoke at length, sharing jokes and laughing. Finally Martin returned, and opening the passenger door he ordered me to get out.
I stood bollock-naked in the dust. Brad looked me up and down, stroking his chin,
“He might a good dog if he’s ready to work at it,” he nodded, “you game, lad?”
I nodded nervously.
“Give me your socks then.”
I pulled them off my feet and handed them over.
“Down on your knees.”
I followed where Bradley was pointing. Then Martin thanked the Man, and climbed back into his yellow Peugeot. I was an absolute twist of insufferable nerves watching Martin disappear down that track.
“Don’t say a word,” Bradley admonished, seeing I was just about speak, “You can’t talk anymore. You’re a dog now. Martin’s paying me 10 grand to train you, and you’re not going to disappoint him. When he comes back 2 weeks from now, you’ll be a proper dog.”
Just then what sounded every bit like a real dog barking could be heard over the way. I turned to look back at the farmhouse and got my first glimpse of Hector. I wouldn’t have believe a human could make such an exacting dog bark before I saw it with my own eyes. A lad about my own age thundered on all-fours across the lawn and put his face directly into my crotch, sniffing at my terrified willy.
“Down boy, sit Hector!” Brad quipped, and his hound obeyed, wagging the spring-mounted, dog-tail butt plug in his ass.
Hector had all the gear, knee pads, mitts, a smart little black cage on his penis. But I was glad to see he wasn’t wearing any kind of mask. I wanted Martin to see my eager face when I was finally ready to be his dog.
“Come on then Romeo, lets get you kitted out.”
I was properly stunned when he said that. Did he mean me? Hector banded cheerfully after his Master.
“Oi Romeo, don’t make me tell you twice.”
Why the fuck was he calling me Romeo? I hastened after him into the Barn.
Everything was in there – Kink paraphernalia hanging on a row of hooks, and a huge cage.
“First thing’s first,” Bradley smiled, unzipping his Levi’s and letting his long cock flop down.
I knew what was expected and I wanted to oblige. I’d become accustomed to sucking on Martin’s penis, which smelled nice like a sweaty lad. But Brad stank like a full grown man.
“Martin doesn’t want hear about this when he comes to pick you up, Romeo,” He warned, pushing his hard-on deeper between my chops, “He only wants to hear you bark like a good boy.”
Hector barked like a good boy for me while I was incapacitated.
Us two dog boys spent the night in that cage. When the lights were out, Hector snuggled up close to me for warmth. I tried whispering to him, wanted to ask him so many questions, but he suddenly struck up barking like mad. I couldn’t get him to stop.
Lights came back on at the farmhouse and Brad marched over.
“What’s the fucking fuss? Is he chatting to you?”
Busted.
“Alright, shut up now boy. Shut it!”
Bradley chose a big belt and clapped my ass worse than ever.
“I’m dead serious about dog training Romeo. You’d better not get me out of bed again. No more talking, you got it?”
Hector settled back down with me like nothing had happened when we were alone again. I let the sound of his breathing send me off to sleep.
Next day my training began properly. Over the coming days I learnt hand signals and tried barking. And I was doing well, but one evening changed everything for me.
Bradley had one of his mates over – another hench Demigod with his chest bursting out of his shirt. The Man had a dog of his own, a boy they were calling Diesel, and it became clear from their conversation that Brad had trained him too. They were drinking whisky and looking me over.
“Seriously mate, did you call this one Romeo?”
“Nah, his owner called him that. Suits him tho, he’s dead soft this one.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Martin called me Romeo! That’s the moment I was ready to admit that I fell in love with him. I remember thinking, This must be how real dogs feel about their Masters. I wanted to do everything perfectly and be the best dog ever.
“Go on, let me beat him…”
Bradley handed him the old belt, and he put down his tumbler to deal me a full hand of stinging slaps on the thighs and rump. But I was gonna take all the beatings they could throw at me, just to make Martin proud. Every strike proved my devotion.
After that I was a stellar pupil, putting my heart and soul into it. Perfected a bark clear and sharp like hector, proper dog-like. Licked out my dog bowl and sat to attention. Never said another word. Haven’t spoken since.
The day Martin’s car came rumbling back down the track I wanted to leap and jabber about all the cool stuff that had happened, but I didn’t. I sat like a good dog and waited for Bradley’s signals.
My chest swelled with pride as I went through the motions, finishing with my new bark. The grin of Martin’s face was all the reward I needed, but he had also brought a present – A new collar with my name ‘Romeo’ engraved on a shiny medal.
Those first days were the best, when Martin was so fucking pleased with himself for pulling it off and actually getting a boy to be his dog. He took me for walks in the country each day, throwing sticks and making me jump into streams. Then at night I’d curl up in a basket at the foot of his bed with one of his sweaty socks to sniff on. I felt like the luckiest pup in all the world.
But as much as a dog might love his Master, a real Man’s affection for his dog only goes so far. Of course he has other needs, and soon Martin was bringing dates and Grindr hook-ups back to the flat.
“I told you I had a dog,” he’d scoff, delighting in the shock and amazement in his guest’s face.
I’d bark, knowing what was expected of me.
“Fuck!” the lad would gasp, “Fuck, that is so fucking hot!”
Then they’d make out where I could see from my basket. Martin never looked my way as he fucked them, but his buddy’s couldn’t take their eyes of me.
Then an old friend of martin’s came to stay for good, it seems? I didn’t like James from the start. He was arrogant and entitled in the extreme, and I couldn’t understand why Martin let him throw his weight around like that. Martin was always the Boss, it was weird watching someone else calling the shots.
“What the actual fuck! I thought you joking!” James boomed when first clapped eyes on me, his face screwed up disparagingly, “Who is he?”
“He’s my dog Romeo,” Martin peeved.
“Yeah, James!” I thought to myself, feeling defended like Martin had my back.
“Honestly, you’re pathetic, you know that?” James frowned, and that night he threw my basket out of the bedroom so he could fuck Martin unobserved.
Listened to them from outside the door, and it was clear that Martin was bottoming. Things went on like this for week before I learned that James was Martin’s Big Brother. Explained everything, all the insufferable entitlement.
He’s always putting the dog thing down, and making mean jokes.
“We should get him neutered,” he sneered the other day.
I didn’t know if he was serious at first. And what made things worse is that Martin went along with it saying,
“Ha yeah, we wouldn’t get all his bad behaviour if he was clipped.”
James went on, checking my reactions as he spoke,
“I’ve got a friend who would do it for nothing. Remember Vince, he’s just graduated as a Veterinary Surgeon. He’d love to castrate a silly faggot like that. He’d pay to do it.”
Eventually I realised he was just trying to scare me, and it worked.
I can’t wait for James to leave, and me and Martin can get back to our normal life. When is he going tho? He’s shown no sign of budging. Guess he DOES enjoy having a dog-boy around, just as much as everyone else.