Illustration by Purplesong

Dear Diary,

Woof! I can barely believe it. Today, I left the Farm!

That should’ve been the biggest thing. The moment. The before-and-after. And it was . . . until we pulled up outside the glass-and-chrome building and my leash was clipped on for the first time by him.

Ransom. My new Owner.

When my Master leaned in and clipped the leash to my collar with a decisive click, the sound went straight to my spine. My body obeyed without thought.

His voice was . . . I don’t know how to describe it. It’s soft, like velvet, but it hits me like a whip. When he said “Out, Pup,” I didn’t even think. My body just moved. Palms first, knees next. I crawled out of the car like I’d trained for this moment my whole life.

Because I had.

The sign above the entrance read Elite Veterinary Services in stark, modern lettering. Inside, the clinic was all white marble and soft, indirect lighting, elegant and cool. The cold tile floor stung my bare knees. 

The woman at the front desk smiled at Ransom, efficient and composed. “Good afternoon, Mr. Howard. Dr. Hayes is ready for you. Exam Room Three.”

Ransom didn’t answer her. He just walked. I crawled close behind, breath shallow, nose almost touching the back of his heel. The hallway was quiet but humming with potential. 

We reached door three. The door opened. I crawled in after him.

The room was bigger than I expected. Soft leather padding. Cool silver restraints. And the exam table—large, elevated, with restraint points at every corner. My throat tightened.

“Ah, Mr. Ransom.” Dr. Hayes turned from the sink, drying his hands. He was young. Trim, efficient, with sharp dark eyes and slow, deliberate movements. His expression was professional. But when he looked at me, a flicker of interest lit behind the clinical mask.

“And this must be your new acquisition.”

“Freckles,” Ransom said. He gave the leash a gentle tug. I lowered my head.

Dr. Hayes crouched in front of me, tilting my chin with a single finger. “Beautiful specimen,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone. “Excellent muscle tone. Clear eyes. Coat like velvet.”

His thumb brushed my bottom lip, then lingered. I exhaled a shaky breath. He smiled faintly, just at the corner of his mouth. “Very responsive.”

“Very,” Ransom returned.

Dr. Hayes straightened, amusement in his eyes. He gestured to the table. “Let’s get him up for a proper examination.”

“Up,” Ransom said, and I obeyed instantly.

I placed my hands on the edge and climbed up, the leather cold against my shins and thighs. My Master’s hand landed on my shoulder, guiding me.

“On all fours.”

My body dropped without hesitation, ass high, knees spread on the padded surface. I lifted my tail, showing I was trying to be good. Obedient, presentable, and pleasing.

Behind me, latex gloves snapped into place.

“Now then, let’s see what we have here.” Gloved fingers pried my mouth open without ceremony. "Open wide."

I obeyed, opening my mouth a wide “O”. The command wasn’t his—but the authority felt borrowed from Ransom, and I would obey anything that bore his shape.

The doctor’s thumb hooked behind my teeth, forcing my jaw further apart, and he examined my teeth with cold efficiency, running a finger along my gums, pressing into the tender backs of my molars. When he pushed deeper, testing my gag reflex, I couldn’t help the small, involuntary sound that escaped.

"Good control," he murmured, half to himself, half to Ransom. "Minimal resistance."

He shone a penlight into each eye, watching my pupils shrink. Then my ears—he tugged them gently, peered inside with a ticklish instrument that made me flinch and squirm despite my best efforts to hold still.

"Hold." Ransom’s voice was low, near the door. That one word froze me.

The stethoscope was freezing against my bare ribs. I gasped, breath catching, my skin erupting in goosebumps as Dr. Hayes moved across my chest with deliberate slowness.

"Deep breath," the vet instructed. I inhaled shakily, feeling stripped down to breath and bone, each sound my body made suddenly loud and shamefully public.

"Now for the throat," Dr. Hayes said, producing a long, thin scope. "This might be uncomfortable."

I tilted my head back. My jaw ached, stretched wide. I didn’t resist when the scope slid inside. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as it went deeper, gag reflex twitching. The invasion was cold and clinical, but still, I felt the heat pool in my belly, my shameful body turning this sterile humiliation into something… needy. Something alive.

Dr. Hayes finally withdrew the scope. I coughed, blinking away tears, a strand of drool following as I tried to catch my breath.

The vet moved behind me, fingers mapping my spine, pressing along each vertebra. Then he reached my tail.

And pulled it straight up.

A whimper escaped before I could swallow it down. My eyes sought out my Master.

"Shh," Ransom said softly. Still at the door. Still watching. And still—his voice wrapped around my throat like a leash. Just that one sound made me brace my legs, steady my breathing. I didn’t want to flinch again.

Dr. Hayes retrieved a measuring tape. Methodical now—the length of my arms, the width of my thighs, the shape of my chest. I tried to disappear into the routine of it.

Until he reached my cock.

The tape brushed across it, and I flinched. I was already swelling, straining against the ring. And when he wrapped the tape around me... my breath hitched.

"Above average," Dr. Hayes noted, jotting something down. "Good proportions."

He cupped my balls, hefted them, and rolled them thoughtfully between his fingers. The sound I made wasn’t human. I bit down hard on my lip, but the flush of heat in my cheeks betrayed me.

He moved to my chest. My nipples. His fingers pinched—once, then again, harder. My knees buckled slightly. A broken whine escaped me before I could muffle it.

"Highly responsive," Dr. Hayes said, almost with satisfaction. "The serum’s working. Sensitivity is excellent."

My Puppy cock was hard. Truly hard. Leaking against my stomach, desperate and aching with need.

Dr. Hayes noticed. Of course he noticed. Another note on the clipboard.

"Temperature next," he said, selecting a thick, silver thermometer from his tray. My stomach dropped.

"This will need to go in deep for an accurate core reading."

He slicked it with gel. My hips shifted reflexively, trying to back away. I forced myself still, heart hammering.

I was just a Puppy. This is what a Puppy is for. Something to be inspected, processed, improved.

Something owned.

The thermometer pressed against my entrance. I yelped.

"Easy."

Ransom was suddenly beside me. His hand found my face. It was warm and solid, cupping my cheek with shocking tenderness.

"You’re such a good boy," he murmured, thumb brushing my skin like a reward. "Keep being good and I’ll give you a treat after we’re done."

The praise and promise landed deep. My body pulsed with it.

The thermometer slid in slowly. Deliberate. Impersonal. I should have been ashamed, but all I could feel was how full I was, how exposed, how seen.

And Ransom’s voice—his touch—his approval—

It was too much.

A sob broke in my throat as I came.

There was no build-up, no control. Just sudden, helpless pulses, spilling across the exam table as my body convulsed in pleasure too sharp to be contained.

"Oh," Dr. Hayes said with a flick of surprise. "Premature ejaculation. Noted."

I burned. Shaking. Wrung out. Ashamed and... grateful.

Ransom didn’t pull his hand away.

But his tone shifted.

"You didn’t have permission for that," he said softly.

And suddenly, I wanted to crawl inside that shame. To beg for forgiveness.

To earn the next time.

“The breeding programs do tend to produce hypersensitive specimens,” Dr. Hayes murmured, his tone maddeningly detached as he slid the thermometer the rest of the way in.
I whimpered at the intrusion, still throbbing from the orgasm they’d wrung from me like it was nothing.

“Interesting,” he added, tilting his head as he studied my flushed, trembling form. “No refractory period. The ring’s doing its job.”

I was still hard. Obscenely so. My Puppy cock twitched against my belly, glistening with the slick proof of my lack of control. The vet noted it on his chart with cool efficiency.

“Should we continue the exam,” Dr. Hayes asked, “or would you prefer to discipline him first?”

Ransom’s thumb ghosted across my cheek again, tender in a way that made me ache. “Continue,” he said, voice smooth as velvet. “I’ll address his punishment later.”

Later.

That word curled inside me like a promise. Heavy and hot.

“Excellent tension,” Dr. Hayes said, eyes scanning my form. “Very tight. Has he been penetrated before?”

“Fingers and toys only,” Ransom answered.

“Mmm.” The vet’s eyes gleamed behind his glasses.

He twisted the thermometer slowly. I gasped. My hips jerked reflexively. The thick bulb pressed deeper, sending jolts of heat up my spine. I couldn’t stop the way my thighs trembled.

“Healthy elasticity,” he murmured, pulling the device partway out and pushing it back in with slow deliberation. “Responsive tissue… good muscle control.”

I whimpered, clenching around the intrusion, shame and arousal tangled into something feral. I was trying—trying—to be good, to be still, but every touch made it harder to think, let alone behave.

Dr. Hayes withdrew the thermometer at last, leaving me empty and aching. “Temperature is normal. However, the next portion will be more invasive. He’ll need to be restrained.”

“Of course,” Ransom said, already moving to position me.

My heart pounded as the two of them worked in tandem. Ransom guided me onto my back, his hands firm. The leather restraints were soft but unyielding, wrapping around my wrists, tugging my arms wide. A thick strap crossed my chest just below my nipples, pinning me down.

“Legs up,” Ransom said.

Shaking, I obeyed. My master lifted my ankles and bent my knees back while Dr. Hayes fastened restraints at my thighs and hips, spreading me open and still. Every part of me was vulnerable: my cock twitching, my hole on display, the ache in my belly deep and pulsing.

Ransom’s hand came to rest gently on my throat. Not squeezing. Just claiming.

“Perfect,” Dr. Hayes said. He rolled over a tray and selected an instrument that looked like a thick pen with a needle tip. “Identification chip. It embeds deep in the gluteal muscle. A permanent marker of ownership.”

The alcohol swab was cold. I tensed.

The needle burned as it went in. Sharp. Deep. I cried out, jaw clenched, legs trembling in the straps.

“There we go,” Dr. Hayes said, stepping back. “He’s officially registered as your property. All data—medical, behavioral, genetic—is now linked to your designation.”

Ransom leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “Mine,” he whispered.

The word wasn’t loud, but it shattered something in me. My chest heaved.

Dr. Hayes moved between my legs again. “Now for the internal exam.”

The first finger slid in easily—too easily. My body, softened by the thermometer and orgasm, yielded with barely any resistance. But this time, the vet wasn’t gentle. He crooked his finger immediately, digging deeper.

I bit back a yelp, back arching as much as the straps would allow.

“There,” he said with detached satisfaction, rubbing firmly against the spot that made me see stars. “Let’s measure his sensitivity.”

He was relentless. That single finger worked me like a switch, pressing and circling with expert precision. I strained against the leather, overwhelmed by the direct, targeted stimulation.

My cock drooled steadily, puddling on my stomach. I couldn't stop it. I was unraveling.

“Most pups require far more effort,” the vet said clinically. “This one is unusually receptive.”

Another finger slid in, stretching me wider, amplifying the pressure inside. The angle changed—deeper, firmer—and my body betrayed me again. The orgasm surged up so fast I had no chance to beg, no time to ask for permission.

I howled.

The climax hit like a seizure. It was violent, humiliating, and unstoppable. My cock jerked and spilled, untouched, ropes of cum landing hot on my belly and chest. I couldn’t breathe. Just cried pitifully, wrecked by pleasure I hadn’t earned.

“Two orgasms in under ten minutes,” Dr. Hayes noted aloud. “Both induced by minimal stimulation. Fascinating.”

His fingers were still inside me as I shook and whined.

He finally withdrew his fingers, leaving me gasping and twitching, my body too sensitized to process what had just happened. Impossibly, my Puppy cock remained rigid, a flag of surrender to everything they were doing to me.

“He’ll require a strict regimen,” Dr. Hayes said, stripping off his gloves with a snap. “Daily edging, orgasm denial, graduated sensitivity conditioning. Without it, he’ll be spilling every time you brush against him.”

Ransom moved into my field of view. Those black-rimmed glasses obscured his eyes, but his expression was unreadable. He reached down and wiped a tear from my cheek with unsettling gentleness.

“That was your last free one, pet,” he murmured. “From now on, you’ll come only when I allow it. You’ll earn every release. Beg for it. And even then, I may deny you. Come without permission and you’ll be punished.”

His words were soft. Final. They settled into my bones like a brand. I nodded frantically, still shaking in the restraints. The promise in his voice made my whole body light up. There was shame, need, fear, and something new: a deep, molten obedience curling low in my belly.

“Shall we continue with the full physical?” Dr. Hayes asked, already reaching for another set of instruments. “We haven’t tested his anal capacity or nipple sensitivity yet.”

“Proceed,” Ransom said. One hand came to rest in my hair, a tether anchoring me in place. “I want all of him examined. Every limit. Every response. Every vulnerability.”

Dr. Hayes selected a gleaming metal instrument. “This will take some time,” he said, almost cheerfully. “But by the end, we’ll have your Pup completely documented. There won’t be a single inch of him untouched.”

I whimpered, tugging against the restraints. The chip now embedded in my bottom throbbed faintly, a constant reminder that I wasn’t a person anymore. I was property. Owned.

And yet . . . the part between my legs remained shamefully stiff, leaking onto my belly.

Dr. Hayes lifted the speculum under the harsh exam lights, coating it in gel. “The speculum will help us properly assess his depth and elasticity,” he explained. “Mr. Ransom, if you’d be so kind?”

Ransom was already in position, his strong hands gripping my cheeks and spreading them apart without ceremony. The extra exposure made me whine, but he didn’t loosen his hold. I was his pet. Displayed for evaluation.

The cold metal kissed my entrance. I flinched.

“Shh,” Ransom said, his voice steady. “Let the doctor do his work.”

Dr. Hayes pressed forward, slow but inexorable. The speculum breached me, wider than fingers, colder than toys. It didn’t coax. It forced me open, and my body had no choice but to yield.

“There we go,” the vet murmured, seating the speculum inside me. “Now, let’s see what we’re working with.”

Click.

I gasped.

Click.

I whimpered.

Click.

By the third notch, I was crying openly, the raw stretch setting every nerve on fire. My body wanted to close, to protect—but the metal kept me spread, helpless and exposed.

“Excellent elasticity,” Dr. Hayes said. “No tearing. Very responsive. Mr. Ransom, look at the way the tissue accommodates. Remarkable.”

Ransom leaned in. Knowing they were looking inside me, watching how my hole stretched and strained, made something deep inside twist with humiliated arousal.

“Four centimeters,” Dr. Hayes said, adjusting again. “Let’s try for five.”

The pressure intensified. I shook my head, small and desperate, but my body had already betrayed me. I moaned as the speculum cranked wider, hips twitching uselessly against the straps.

“Five point two,” the vet declared. “A solid baseline. With proper training, he could take significantly more.”

He didn’t remove the device.

Instead, he reached for a thin tube with a tiny camera at the tip. “Next, an internal scope to check for abnormalities in the colon.”

The scope slid into the already-stretched opening. I gasped—it kept going, snaking deeper into me, past any depth I’d ever known. My stomach fluttered as it twisted upward. The screen beside us displayed pink walls and delicate ridges. The vulnerable map of my insides.

“You were right about only fingers and toys penetrating him,” Dr. Hayes noted. “He’s entirely unspoiled. No scarring, no irregularities. Pristine tissue.”

I wasn’t sure if I should feel proud or ashamed. Maybe both.

When he finally withdrew the scope, I sobbed. It was less from the discomfort, more from the violation, from how much I’d felt it.

“Now for cultures,” Dr. Hayes said, lifting several long swabs from a sterile packet. “We’ll need samples from various depths for the lab.”

Ransom didn’t say a word. His hand stayed in my hair, a steady, possessive weight.

And all the while, my cock throbbed, hard and heavy, twitching against my stomach like it knew something I didn’t.

Like it already understood what I was becoming.

The first swab slipped in easily through the still-gaping speculum. I whimpered as the cotton dragged along the raw inner walls of my body, the sensation almost unbearably intimate. The second swab went deeper, brushing places I hadn’t even known existed, and I squirmed against the restraints, shame painting my cheeks as I reacted like some needy thing.

“Still,” Ransom said, calm but firm, his hand pressing down on my thigh. The weight of his palm grounded me. More than restraint, it was a reminder. I belonged to him now. Every movement, every breath, was his to permit.

The third swab slid in and something deep inside me cramped from the intrusion. I choked on a gasp, the strain in my muscles only broken by the sharp, anchoring pressure of Ransom’s touch.

“Just one more,” Dr. Hayes murmured, and I barely had time to register the shift before his hand was on my cock, cool and impersonal. He pressed his thumb to my slit, and my hips jerked involuntarily.

“The urethral swab is always uncomfortable,” he said, almost kindly. “Try not to move.”

Then it was there—sliding inside me, thin and merciless. I yelped, not just from the sharp sting, but from the utter wrongness of it. My cock burned as the swab threaded deeper than I thought possible. Ransom didn’t soothe me. He didn’t stroke or murmur comfort. He held me in place, impassive, letting it happen.

Letting me be violated for his benefit.

The vet turned the swab with methodical precision. I shook beneath him, my body caught between the agony of overstimulation and a deep, humbling need I didn’t yet understand.

“Almost done,” Dr. Hayes said, sliding it out with a flick that made me whimper.

By the time he pulled away, my chest was heaving. My cock throbbed painfully against the air, confusion and arousal tangled into something unnameable. I could still feel the speculum spreading me, the cool air on the wet heat inside me.

“Excellent samples,” Dr. Hayes said as he labeled the swabs with practiced ease. “No sign of infection. He’s a very healthy specimen.”

He began clicking the speculum closed, each notch easing the stretch, but I moaned with each contraction, the strange emptiness that followed making my hole pulse with need. When the metal finally slid free, I felt gaping, ruined. Exposed in a way I hadn’t known was possible.

“The speculum always makes their holes nice and soft,” the vet mused. “His anus is almost like a vulva now. You’ll have fun training him up.”

Ransom released his grip at last, but his fingers lingered on my inner thigh, idly stroking. Not comforting. More like inspecting.

“What’s next?” he asked, like ordering the next course of a meal.

Dr. Hayes didn’t miss a beat, reaching for a new tray. “Nipple sensitivity tests, oral capacity, then some electrical mapping. I want to chart every erogenous response for your reference.”

A soft, miserable sound escaped me. I wasn’t even halfway through, and already my body was trembling from the attention.

“Proceed,” Ransom said coolly.

Dr. Hayes glanced at my leaking tip and frowned. “Hmm. His hypersensitivity is more severe than I anticipated. Two spontaneous orgasms in one session. That won’t do.”

He moved to a wall cabinet and withdrew a metal case. When he opened it, I saw rows of chastity devices. They were gleaming, precise, merciless.

“I recommend immediate chastity,” the vet said. “Something restrictive. A visual reminder of his status, and a physical barrier to further disobedience.”

“Agreed,” Ransom said, already reaching for the offered device.

The one selected was steel, with a narrow tube that seemed laughably small and a ring that made my stomach twist in fear. Ransom examined it briefly before pressing it to my flushed skin.

“Hold still,” he said.

There was no gentleness in his hands now. He gripped my shaft, pressing and coaxing it into the cruel tube. My breath caught as the cold metal squeezed around me, reducing me, caging me.

The ring slid around the base of my cock and balls like a closing trap. Then came the lock—click—a sound more final than anything I’d ever heard.

My cock twitched hopelessly inside its prison. There was no room to swell, no way to ache without punishment.

“Perfect fit,” Dr. Hayes said, clearly pleased. “He won’t be getting out without your key.”

Ransom slid the key into his coat pocket. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Tears welled again, the reality sinking in. Not just the pain or the restriction, but what it meant. I wasn’t allowed to come. Not unless he wanted it. My pleasure wasn’t mine anymore. It belonged to him.

And my cock—caged, burning, weeping—responded like it was grateful.

Dr. Hayes returned to his instruments, lifting my balls and weighing them with cool detachment. “Good size. Strong testosterone profile.”

He rolled them gently in his hand, making me twitch. Then he looked at Ransom again.

“You know,” he said, conversational, “some owners choose to neuter their pets. Especially the more sensitive ones. It curbs any potential for dominant behavior… permanently.”

My heart thudded in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. The idea, humiliating and terrifying, settled over me like a shadow.

But worse than fear was the realization: My cock was still trying to get hard.

Ransom considered this, his eyes dropping to where Dr. Hayes still cradled my balls in one gloved hand. The silence stretched, thick with tension. Finally, he said, almost lazily, “I want to keep them for now. Unless he gives me a reason to reconsider.”

The threat licked up my spine like a flame. I whimpered. I’d be good. So good. I’d never give him a reason—

“Understandable,” Dr. Hayes said smoothly, giving my sac a final, possessive squeeze before letting go. The absence of his touch felt like a fall. “They can be quite useful, correction-wise.”

He turned back to his tray, selecting a strip of leather affixed with small, shining metal weights. “Speaking of which . . . have you considered stretchers? They’re excellent for long-term modification. Visible ownership.”

He wrapped the leather snug around the base of my sac, just above my balls. Even without the weights, the pressure was brutal, pulling everything down and away from my body like I was being unspooled from the inside.

“You can add weight gradually,” he explained, attaching the first metal piece with a soft click. The pull was immediate, making me gasp, my thighs trembling. “It’s a reminder. Every step, every shift—he feels the weight of you. Of what he is.”

Another weight. My eyes watered. I bit down on a moan.

“Very useful for discipline,” the vet went on, tone clinical as he twisted the strap tighter. “Increase the load when he misbehaves. They learn quickly when their balls are on the line.”

Ransom watched me. “How long can it be worn?”

“Start with an hour. Work up to all day. Some owners opt for permanent stretch—low-hanging, heavy, unmistakably owned.” Dr. Hayes tugged on the dangling weights. I cried out, body straining in the restraints. “A visual signal of what he’s for.”

“I’ll take a set,” Ransom said, voice unreadable.

The vet unbuckled the leather and removed the weights. I nearly sobbed at the relief—but the ache lingered, the echo of pressure and promise.

“Now then,” Dr. Hayes said, making a note on his tablet. “Shall we move on to nipple sensitivity? I’m curious how he responds with the cage keeping his cock properly contained.”

He stepped closer, gloved fingers hovering above my chest. My nipples were still swollen from the serum used back at the Farm. They were plump, puffy, and tender.

When he flicked one experimentally, I jolted, a broken gasp escaping.

“Excellent baseline,” he murmured, pinching the other and twisting, slow and cruel. I whimpered, hips twitching uselessly. The cage kept my cock trapped in silence, but my body was betraying me in other ways.

“Any preferences for development, Mr. Ransom?” Hayes asked, eyes still on my chest. “We offer permanent enlargement, heightened sensitivity treatments. Ideal for pets who need regular correction . . . or stimulation.”

Ransom stepped closer. I could feel his gaze on me like pressure. “I want them obscene,” he said. “Fat. Desperate. So sensitive he can’t focus when they’re touched.”

“Before or after piercing?”

“Before. I want them ripened first. Then we’ll pierce them.”

Dr. Hayes smiled, already reaching for a vial. “I have just the thing. Our most intensive protocol.”

He slipped on new gloves, slicking his fingers with a clear, glistening serum. “This blend triggers rapid tissue growth. Expect swelling, heat, and extreme responsiveness. It’s quite effective.”

The first contact with the serum made me flinch. It was cool, then tingling, then burning. Hayes worked it in with circular motions, pressing deep into the flesh. My back arched. The sensations blurred.

“You’ll need to massage them twice daily,” he said, voice calm as he worked. “Firm pressure. Stretch the tissue. Encourage growth. Daily suction for an hour. Weekly electro-stimulation for nerve expansion.”

He produced a pair of clear suction cups and a compact pump. “Let me show you.”

The cups sealed with wet pops over my nipples. When he turned on the pump, the hiss filled the room and the pull started. Gentle at first, then deepening. My nipples swelled, darkened, throbbed. I moaned, helpless.

“See how eager his body is?” Dr. Hayes murmured, watching the tissue rise. “In a few weeks, they’ll be permanent. Sticking out like a pair of udders. Just the way you want them.”

The cups hummed softly, pulling without mercy. My breath came fast, brain fuzzing at the edges. My nipples felt huge. Alive.

“Time for the electrical component,” he said, attaching small adhesive pads near the suction bases. “This will accelerate development dramatically.”

The first jolt was a crack of lightning. I bucked, straining in the restraints, a choked noise ripping from my throat.

“Oh, very reactive,” Dr. Hayes purred, adjusting the settings. Another pulse followed. Longer, hotter. My hips jerked, cock caged and pulsing, frustrated and desperate.

“Beautiful,” Ransom murmured, stepping closer. He scratched lightly behind my ears, and something in me broke open.

“Good boy,” he whispered. “You’re taking it so well.”

The praise melted through me, more intense than the shocks. I moaned, body trembling, and leaned into his touch like I couldn’t help it. Like I belonged there.

The suction and the shocks blurred together, every nerve hooked and burning. Hayes continued calmly, recording settings, watching the tremble of my muscles. But I was lost, floating between pain and pleasure, between the cage and Ransom’s fingers petting gently behind my ear.

“We’ll include a home unit,” Hayes said. “Daily use will produce dramatic results. And he’s clearly an ideal subject.”

I couldn’t process words anymore. Just sensation. Just the deep, overwhelming knowledge that I was being remade. Owned. Modified. Perfected for him.

“You’re doing so well,” Ransom said again, thumb stroking my cheek now. His voice felt like heat on my skin. “Such a good patient.”

I sobbed with it . . . his praise, his ownership, the weight of what was happening to my body. 

The thought bloomed in me like heat, thick and heady. I belonged to him, and everything happening to me was for his pleasure, his design. I had never known a peace like this—terrible, total, and transcendent.

“Initial mapping is complete,” Hayes finally said, powering down the device. The sudden silence was almost painful. The cups stayed on a moment longer, then peeled off with soft pop.

My nipples were engorged. Dark pink, shining with serum, and throbbing visibly. Even the soft drag of air over them made me whimper, my spine arching as if to escape the sensation.

"Beautiful," Dr. Hayes murmured. He rolled one between his fingers.

I nearly screamed. 

“Excellent reaction. Perfect for clamps or crop play.”

He applied more serum, firm and deliberate, working it in with clinical detachment. I squirmed, panting. My nipples burned with pleasure. I was raw with sensation.

“They’ll stay swollen for several hours,” he said clinically, as though he hadn’t just brought me to the brink with a single touch. “Be sure to massage them thoroughly tonight. Really work the serum in.”

But he was already turning away, preparing the next procedure, while my body trembled beneath the restraints.

Ransom’s hand remained in my hair, stroking gently behind my ears—possessive, comforting, claiming.

And in that moment, that was all that mattered.

I was his. His pet. His creature. Being reshaped for him.

I floated. Strapped down, exposed, aching in ways I hadn’t known existed; and yet I was tranquil, blissfully docile. Whatever they did next, I would endure it. Gladly.

Because I was a good boy.

And good boys took their treatments.

Ransom’s voice cut through the fog. “What else would you recommend for a sensitive pup like this?” 

Dr. Hayes smiled, already reaching for the next tray. “Well, there’s the matter of his prostate. Given his level of sensitivity, this will be a crucial foundation for his training. Would you like me to demonstrate proper technique?”

“Yes,” Ransom replied immediately. His fingers never stopped petting. “He’s to learn to come only from anal stimulation. That part between his legs is nothing more than decorative.”

The approval in the vet’s expression was unmistakable. “An excellent choice. Pets trained this way are far more compliant. More eager to please.”

He moved between my immobile legs. 

“He does have quite a bit of fur,” Dr. Hayes commented, observing my hole. “Common in breeding stock. But it can hinder hygiene. Most owners prefer a cleaner appearance.”

Ransom leaned in. “Remove it.”

“Permanently?”

“Yes,” Ransom said, no hesitation.

Dr. Hayes selected a bulbous black plug with tubing coiled around it. He held it up like an elegant tool, coating it thoroughly in thick lube.

I whimpered without meaning to, body clenching, trembling.

“This will serve a dual purpose,” he explained. “The inflatable plug will prepare the area for hair removal and provide excellent stimulation for milking.”

The plug pressed against my soft opening. I exhaled sharply as it breached me, the penetration surprisingly easy. My body accepted it greedily.

And then he pumped it.

The first squeeze caught me off guard, making me gasp aloud as the plug swelled, stretching me inward and outward at once. The second made me shudder, toes curling.

The third made me cry out.

It was too much. My restraints creaked as I writhed, and Ransom hushed me gently, his hand cradling my head like I was something precious.

“Lovely,” Dr. Hayes said, pressing his fingers around the edge of my stretched rim. “See how taut the skin is? Ideal for the laser.”

He picked up a sleek wand that pulsed softly with blue light. “This will remove all hair follicles permanently. Very precise. Though it does sting.”

The first zap made me flinch violently—sharp, hot, like electricity under my skin. He worked with slow precision, clicking the wand around the plug, burning each follicle one by one.

My body shook under the combined assault—the stretch of the plug, the bite of the laser, the humiliating exposure.

“You’ll need to establish a regular milking schedule,” Dr. Hayes said, his voice calm as he zapped another patch. “Anal stimulation only. No penile orgasms, ever.”

“Not a problem,” Ransom agreed, stroking behind my ears again. 

My cock, useless and trapped in its cage, throbbed desperately. I moaned. It was a long, broken, and needy sound. The shame only made it worse.

The vet moved methodically to my groin, lasering the hair around the base of the cage. Each zap made me jump, and my cock wept helplessly inside its prison.

“He’s very vocal,” Dr. Hayes noted, giving the plug another pump that made me wail. “You may want a muzzle for public outings.”

“Add it to his kit,” Ransom said. “I want a full set. Training, travel, punishment.”

The laser powered down, leaving my groin and hole raw and tingling. Dr. Hayes examined me, pleased.

“Smooth as silk,” he said. “Now, for the milking.”

He held up a curved, slender metal rod. “This is a prostate stimulator. Designed to hit the gland precisely.”

He slid it in beside the plug. Cold metal parted me, and I sobbed at the intrusion, too sensitive, too open. But when it touched my prostate . . . when it pressed . . .

I shattered.

Lights exploded behind my eyes. I arched, cried out, and Ransom murmured soft praises, grounding me with his touch.

The rod moved in steady, rhythmic strokes. Each pass rubbed against my prostate like a lover’s kiss, each movement dragging me deeper into blissful surrender.

“Watch his hips,” Dr. Hayes said. “See how his body is learning. He’s beginning to associate this pressure with release.”

I couldn’t stop moving. Couldn’t stop moaning. I was leaking nonstop, my caged cock drooling as my body trembled on the edge of something vast and primal.

Then the wave hit.

It wasn’t an orgasm. It was a flood. A convulsion. A full-body tremor that left me sobbing as my cock twitched in its cage, spilling weakly while the rod kept pressing, working, milking.

I wasn’t allowed to come and collapse. I wasn’t allowed to be done.

Dr. Hayes kept going.

Another climax tore through me, more intense than the last, and I screamed. The pleasure was molten, brutal. My body didn’t know how to process it.

Still, the vet worked me. Precise. Unrelenting.

Until I was reduced to a whimpering, broken thing beneath him.

“Perfect demonstration,” he said finally, withdrawing the rod. “You’ll want to repeat this daily. With time, he won’t be able to orgasm any other way.”

The doctor turned to Ransom. “Shall we make the milking part of his regular wellness checks?”

Ransom smiled down at me, fingers brushing the tears from my flushed cheeks. “Of course.”

And I moaned softly, helplessly.

Because I was his good boy.

And I had never felt more owned. More known.

More alive.

Dr. Hayes returned with a clear container gleaming under the soft clinic light. Inside were six perfect spheres. They were translucent, blue, and large as eggs. My hole clenched involuntarily, nerves sparking under my skin.

“One last step before you take him home,” Dr. Hayes said, shaking the container. “These beads will keep him lubricated and ready for everything you have planned for his first night home.”

Ransom inspected the beads. “How many?”

“Six to start,” the vet said, dipping a finger into the gel and coating the first bead. “They dissolve slowly, releasing lubricant for hours. The size trains capacity, the slow melt keeps him eager.”

The doctor pressed the first bead against my trembling entrance. My breath hitched—there was pressure, firm but yielding, pushing past my tight rim until it slipped inside. The fullness bloomed deep and heavy. A shudder rippled through me.

One.

The second bead followed, sliding home with less resistance. Two. My body, still tender from earlier stretching, welcomed the intrusion like it was meant to be filled.

“Good,” Dr. Hayes murmured. “Look how easily he takes them. His body is learning its purpose.”

Bead three, four—each added weight and heat, a rolling fullness that made my breath come faster. By the fifth, my hips lifted of their own accord, desperate to accommodate the growing, shifting mass inside me. 

“Last one,” Dr. Hayes said softly, pressing the sixth bead in with firm, deliberate pressure. A gasp tore from my throat. It wasn’t pain, but an overwhelming fullness that made my entire core quiver.

Six spheres buried deep. Warmth began to spread as the slow melt started.

“Now,” Dr. Hayes said, turning to Ransom, “let’s keep them where they belong.” He gestured toward a display case on the wall. It was filled with retention plugs. There were different colors and shapes, and, most importantly, different sizes.

Ransom skimmed over the options, then settled on a thick black silicone plug with an extra-wide flared base. I was relieved it wasn’t the biggest one. “This one,” he said.

Dr. Hayes handed Ransom the plug and a bottle of lube. “Would you like to do the honors? He should get used to accepting your touch.”

Ransom nodded, his calm dominance sent heat through me as he coated the plug thoroughly. When he stepped between my spread legs, I trembled, a soft whimper slipping out.

“Shh,” Ransom whispered, one hand settling possessively on my hip. “Take it like the good boy you are.”

The plug pressed against my already-stretched entrance, nudging the beads deeper, shifting them inside me with delicious pressure. Ransom’s movements were unhurried and relentless. 

The thickest part of the plug pushed past my rim, forcing a gasp from my lips. Then my hole swallowed up the thin stem. The plug was now seated fully, its broad base pressing tight against my bottom.

Sealed. Filled. Owned.

“Slow-release,” Dr. Hayes said with approval. “He’ll stay lubricated, stretched, and mentally primed. Ready.”

The restraints came off, one by one, the leather sliding away. I tried to move but my body was heavy, full. Every nerve ending sang. My nipples swollen and aching, my cock caged and pulsing, my hole gripping the heavy beads and the plug like a tether.

“Take your time,” Dr. Hayes said softly, rolling me onto my stomach. The change made the beads shift, pressing new spots that made me gasp and clutch the table’s edge.

Ransom’s hand came to the back of my neck, steady and grounding. “Breathe. Easy.”

His voice was a tether pulling me back from drowning in sensation. He helped me down, my legs shaky, barely holding me. The plug tugged with every step, a constant reminder of what was inside.

“On all fours,” Ransom ordered quietly.

I obeyed instantly.

Dr. Hayes was printing something at his desk. “Initial assessment complete. Remarkably healthy. Sensitivity off the charts. Response times most impressive.”

Ransom studied the report while I waited at his knees, the slow melt of beads warming my insides, slick trails coating my inner walls. I could feel it pooling hot and wet.

“He has the makings of an exceptional pet. The rest will come down to training,” Dr. Hayes added.

“I intend to be thorough,” Ransom said, folding the report. His hand clipped the leash back onto my collar, a simple gesture that sent my pulse racing. “Come. Time to go home.”

Every movement jostled the beads and shifted the plug against my insides. My nipples bounced with each step. Ransom’s slow, commanding pace left no room for distraction. I focused on obeying, the swell of submission wrapping tight around me.

We arrived back at the car and Ransom stopped. Instead of opening the crate, he turned, bent down, and cupped my face. 

His thumb traced my cheekbone. “My good, messy boy,” he breathed. Pride and ownership were heavy in his voice. It broke me open.

Tears pricked. The praise was fire, deeper than any touch. I writhed with desperate need, pushing into his palm, a needy whine escaping.

“I know,” he said, reading me perfectly. “So eager already. Let’s get you home. There’s so much to show you.”

He opened the crate door. I crawled inside on shaky limbs. 

The door clicked shut, the engine hummed, and heat blossomed inside me as another bead dissolved, flooding me with slick fire. I moaned into the crate’s padding. It was embarrassing and yet I wanted him to hear.

I was his now. His good, messy boy. Ready to be broken in.

And I couldn’t wait to show my Master just how well his Puppy could perform.