Illustration by Purplesong

Dear Diary,

 

Woof! After the visit to the vet, it was finally time to go home!

 

When the car purred to a stop there were no looming gates, no blaring security. Just tall cypress trees, stone edging, and quiet. The kind of quiet you feel more than hear.

 

I lifted my head slightly, careful not to move without permission. My plug throbbed with the motion, slick and warm from the melting beads inside me. The cage around my cock was tight, a constant, pulsing ache. My nipples still stung from the vet’s cruel fingers. Every part of me was primed, and still, what I felt most wasn’t pain or arousal.

 

It was nervousness. The kind that fluttered deep in my belly.

 

This was it. Home.

 

Ransom didn’t speak right away. His presence was enough. He had that kind of gravity, slow and heavy and certain. You didn’t rush around a man like that. You waited to be told. You wanted to be told.

 

“Out, Pup.”

 

His voice was soft, not cold or cruel. Just firm. Older. Like it had been used to command long before I was ever born.

 

I crawled out slowly, arms shaking a little from the weight of it all. The plug. The cage. The moment. My knees hit the flagstone path. It was smooth and cool, worn from years of care.

 

He didn’t tug the leash. He didn’t need to.

 

The house rose in front of us like something from a dream. Not grand in the flashy way I expected from an Elite. No gold. No marble lions. Just deep cedar wood, rich stone, and wide, clean windows glowing golden with light. It looked lived in. Not showy. Just beautiful.

 

Warm.

 

The front door opened as we approached. A servant stepped aside, bowing slightly. I crawled over the threshold, breath hitching in my chest.

 

Inside, soft light touched polished floors. The ceilings stretched high, and the silence hung there with them. The kind of quiet that comes from solitude. From someone used to moving through empty rooms.

 

Ransom let the door close behind us, then walked ahead. I followed close, eyes lowered.

 

When he stopped, I stopped.

 

He turned and looked down at me.

 

“This house is mine,” he said calmly. “And now, so are you.”

 

My breath caught.

 

He knelt. One hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing gently under my eye. “You’re mine to care for. To train. To love.”

 

My heart pounded so hard I thought he might hear it.

 

“You’ll give me everything, Pup,” he said. “Your obedience. Your body. Your silence. In return, I’ll give you what you were made for.”

 

He leaned in. His voice dropped lower.

 

“Discipline. Comfort. Use. Devotion.”

 

I whimpered. I couldn’t speak. I wasn’t allowed to. But if I could have, I would have told him I wanted that. All of it.

 

His lips brushed my forehead.

 

“Good boy. Let’s get you settled.”

 

And just like that, I followed him into my new life. Aching, caged, plugged, and grateful.

 

"Master Ransom, welcome home."

 

A woman's voice came from the long hallway to our right. I turned to see a tall, silver-haired woman in a crisp dark uniform approaching. Her posture was impeccable, her eyes sharp but kind as they fell on me, then moved back to Ransom.

 

"Mrs. Wilkes," Ransom nodded, his hand resting casually on my head. "Thank you for keeping things in order while I was away."

 

She clasped her hands in front of her, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I see the trip was successful."

 

"Yes," Ransom said, fingers absently stroking behind my ear. "I found what I was looking for."

 

The touch sent electric tingles down my spine. I fought the urge to press harder against his palm, to show him how much I craved more.

 

"We'll handle proper introductions tomorrow," Ransom said, fingers gently threading through my hair. "He's had a long day at the facility."

 

Mrs. Winters nodded, smoothing her already smooth apron. "Of course. Would you like me to have dinner prepared before you retire?"

 

Ransom's fingers tightened slightly in my hair. "No," he said, his voice dropping to that register that made my insides quiver. "I've waited quite long enough."

 

A small sound escaped me before I could stop it. My plug shifted as I clenched around it involuntarily, the sensation making my caged cock strain uselessly.

 

Mrs. Winters' eyes sparkled with knowing amusement. "Very good, sir. I'll ensure you're not disturbed." She gave a small bow and retreated down the hallway.

 

Ransom nodded his thanks, and we continued down the hallway. I crawled beside him, my skin humming with anticipation. Every nerve ending in my body seemed to vibrate, waiting. Just waiting.

 

We climbed a wide staircase, my knees aching against the polished wood. I didn't care. I would have crawled over broken glass if he'd asked me to.

 

The master bedroom was at the end of the hall. When Ransom pushed open the heavy door, I caught my breath.

 

The room was massive, dominated by a bed that could have fit four people comfortably. Dark wood furniture gleamed in the low light from bedside lamps. A fire crackled in a stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across thick rugs.

 

But what made my heart race wasn't the luxury. It was what stood beside the bed: a large padded bench with restraints. A cabinet with glass doors revealing implements I couldn't name but could imagine all too well. A hook hanging from a beam in the ceiling.

 

Ransom closed the door behind us with a soft click that sounded like finality.

 

"Come here," he said, walking to the center of the room.

 

I crawled to him, trembling slightly. Not from fear, but from wanting. From needing.

 

He unclipped my leash and set it aside. Then he knelt, his eyes level with mine for the first time since the vet's office.

 

"You've been so good today," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "So patient. So obedient."

 

I leaned into his touch, unable to help myself.

 

"Present for me," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I'm going to shower, and when I return, we'll begin your first lesson."

 

My body responded instantly, dropping into position - chest down, ass high, knees spread wide. The plug shifted inside me, making me whimper as the remaining beads pressed against sensitive places.

 

"Stay," Ransom commanded, his footsteps receding toward the bathroom.

 

I heard water running, the soft hiss of the shower spray. My muscles trembled with the effort of holding perfectly still. The minutes stretched, each one an exercise in devotion. I focused on my breathing, on the fullness inside me, on the cage keeping my cock confined and aching.

 

My nipples brushed against the plush rug beneath me, sending sparks of sensation through my chest. The serum from the vet's office had left them swollen and hypersensitive. I bit my lip to keep from moaning.

 

The water stopped. I held my breath.

 

The bathroom door opened, and I heard his bare feet on the floor. I kept my eyes down, obedient, until his feet came into view.

 

"Look at me, Pup."

 

I raised my eyes slowly, and my world stopped.

 

Ransom stood before me, completely naked. Water droplets clung to his broad shoulders, tracing paths down his chest. Gray hair dusted his pectorals, trailing down to a taut stomach. His thighs were thick, powerful. And between them—

 

My breath caught. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thick and long even in its relaxed state.

 

Something inside me broke open. Heat flooded through me, overwhelming and unstoppable. My vision blurred, my thighs trembled, and without a touch, without permission, I came.

 

I cried out, my body convulsing as pleasure tore through me. My caged cock pulsed helplessly, spilling through the metal bars onto the rug below.

 

When the wave subsided, I looked up in horror at what I'd done.

 

Ransom's expression shifted from surprise to amusement. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

 

"Well," he said, crouching down to my level. "That's quite the compliment, Pup." His fingers brushed my cheek, tender despite his words.

 

I whimpered, nuzzling against his hand in desperate apology.

 

His expression softened, but his eyes remained firm. "But you know the rules, don't you? No coming without permission."

 

I nodded, shame and arousal tangling inside me.

 

"Good boy for acknowledging your mistake." He straightened and walked to the padded bench. "Come here."

 

I crawled to him, heart pounding.

 

Ransom sat, his naked form powerful and imposing. "Over my lap."

 

I draped myself across his thighs, my chest pressed against the cool leather of the bench, my ass raised. I could feel his cock against my stomach, already hardening.

 

"First lesson," he said, his palm resting warm on my lower back. "Consequences follow actions."

 

His fingers found my tail, lifting it gently. With his other hand, he grasped the base of my plug. "Deep breath."

 

I inhaled sharply as he twisted the plug, working it slowly out of my body. The sensation of emptiness that followed made me whimper. Slick wetness from the dissolved beads trickled down my thighs.

 

"Look at you," Ransom murmured, his finger tracing my exposed, glistening rim. "So open. So wet for me already."

 

His finger slipped inside easily, the melted beads having left me slick and ready. He added a second finger, stretching me with careful precision.

 

"So responsive," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. His fingers twisted, scissored, exploring my depths with methodical care.

 

His other hand moved lower, cupping my balls, rolling them gently in his palm. I moaned, my hips shifting restlessly against his thigh.

 

"Still," he commanded, and I froze.

 

His fingers traced my taint, applying pressure that made my cock throb in its cage. "This is mine now," he said. "All of it. Every inch. Every response."

 

Then his fingers withdrew, leaving me empty and aching.

 

The first slap against my hole came without warning. Sharp. Precise. My body jerked, a startled cry escaping me.

 

Another sharp slap landed, this time directly on my exposed hole. I couldn't help the high-pitched whine that escaped me, my body trembling under his firm hand. The sting bloomed into heat that radiated through my core.

 

"That's it," Ransom murmured, his palm coming down again, harder this time. "Let me hear those pretty sounds."

 

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to form words, to beg, to thank him. Puppies don't speak—they whimper, they cry, they show their pleasure and pain through sounds alone. And right now, those sounds were pouring from me unbidden as his hand came down again and again, alternating between my hole and my cheeks.

 

The spanking built steadily, each strike more intense than the last. My skin burned, glowing pink beneath his attention. I could feel myself opening further with each impact, my body betraying how much I craved this correction.

 

"Such a pretty color," Ransom observed, pausing to admire his handiwork. His fingers traced the heated flesh, sending shivers through my oversensitive skin. "Pink suits you, Pup."

 

I whimpered gratefully, pressing back into his touch despite the sting. The contradiction of it all—the pain and the pleasure, the punishment and the reward—made my head swim. I was being disciplined, but all I felt was cherished.

 

His hand came down harder, the slaps now concentrated on my hole, making it pucker and clench with each impact. The wet sounds of my own slickness filled the room as his palm connected with my most intimate place.

 

"Look how your body responds," he said, his voice thick with appreciation. "Even in punishment, you're desperate for me."

 

He was right. My caged cock was straining again, leaking steadily despite having just released. Each strike sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain through me, making me arch and tremble across his lap.

 

Ransom's own arousal was evident, pressing hard against my stomach as he continued the spanking. His breathing had deepened, control wrapped around desire like a velvet glove.

 

When he finally stopped, my ass and hole were burning, throbbing with delicious heat. I was panting, drool pooling beneath my open mouth, tears streaming freely down my cheeks.

 

"Enough," he said finally, his hand coming to rest on my flaming skin. "Between my legs now."

 

I slid off his lap with shaky limbs, positioning myself between his powerful thighs. His cock hung heavy before me, thickening visibly as I settled into position. I looked up at him, seeking permission, desperate to please.

 

"Prepare me," he commanded, leaning back slightly. "Show me how grateful you are for your correction."

 

My mouth watered at the sight of him. Without hesitation, I leaned forward, letting my tongue trace the length of his shaft from base to tip. I lapped at him reverently, coating every inch with wet, eager strokes. His taste was intoxicating—clean from the shower but with an underlying musk that made my head swim.

 

Ransom's breathing deepened as I worked, his cock swelling impressively under my attentions. I took my time, savoring the weight of him against my tongue, the way his skin tightened as blood rushed to fill him.

 

"Good boy," he murmured, his fingers threading through my hair. "Such an eager mouth."

 

I nuzzled against his balls, inhaling his scent deeply before bathing them with broad strokes of my tongue. His grip in my hair tightened, guiding me back to his shaft, which now stood proudly erect.

 

I opened wide, taking the head between my lips, moaning at the feeling of him stretching my mouth. My ass still burned from the spanking, my hole clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled. The dual sensations—the emptiness behind me and the fullness in my mouth—made my caged cock throb painfully.

 

Ransom's cock was massive, stretching my jaw to its limits as I worked more of him into my mouth. Tears sprang to my eyes again, not from pain but from the overwhelming desire to please him, to take all of him.

 

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice deeper now, roughened with arousal. "Take more."

 

I forced myself to relax, to open wider, sliding down his length until he bumped the back of my throat. I gagged slightly but didn't pull away, determined to prove my devotion.

 

My tongue worked frantically along his underside, tracing the prominent vein there as I bobbed my head. Ransom's hips began to move subtly, tiny thrusts that pushed him deeper into my willing mouth.

 

I could feel my own arousal building again, dangerously close to another forbidden climax. The cage bit cruelly into my swollen flesh, but even that pain was transmuting into pleasure. I whimpered around his cock, trying desperately to focus on his pleasure rather than my own mounting need.

 

"Look at me," Ransom commanded.

 

I raised my eyes, meeting his gaze as I continued to work his length. What I saw there—hunger, possession, satisfaction—nearly undid me. His hand cupped my cheek, thumb wiping away a tear.

 

"Such a perfect mouth," he praised. "Made to serve me."

 

His cock pulsed against my tongue, growing even harder. Pre-cum leaked from his tip, salty and bitter, and I lapped it eagerly, moaning at the taste of him.

 

"Deeper," he urged, his hand moving to the back of my head. "Take all of me."

 

I surrendered completely as he guided me down, forcing his cock past the resistance of my throat. I focused on breathing through my nose, on relaxing my muscles, on being the perfect vessel for his pleasure.

 

The world narrowed to this single point of connection—his cock in my mouth, stretching me, claiming me, using me. Nothing else mattered. Not the ache in my jaw, not the burning of my spanked ass, not the desperate throbbing of my caged cock.

 

Only serving him. Only pleasing him. Only being his.

 

Ransom's breathing grew heavier, his grip tightening in my hair. "Such a good pup," he murmured, voice thick with pleasure. "So eager to please your Master."

 

I redoubled my efforts, hollowing my cheeks as I sucked him, my tongue working feverishly against his shaft. His hips began to thrust more insistently, fucking my mouth with growing urgency.

 

"That's it," he growled. "Take it all."

 

I felt his cock swell impossibly larger, throbbing against my tongue as his climax approached. My own body trembled on the edge, my cage slick with pre-cum, my hole clenching desperately around nothing.

 

Ransom's hand moved to my collar, fingers hooking beneath it, pulling slightly—not enough to choke, just enough to remind me who I belonged to. The pressure sent a jolt of electricity down my spine, and I moaned around his length, the vibrations making him groan in response.

 

"Not yet," he warned, sensing my impending release. "You come when I say, not before."

 

I whimpered in acknowledgment, fighting against my body's desperate need for release. I belonged to him now—every pleasure, every pain, every breath was his to command.

 

And as his cock pulsed in my mouth, as his breathing grew ragged above me, I knew I had finally found my purpose. My home. My Master.

 

In his hands, I was complete.

 

Ransom pulled back suddenly, his cock slipping from my mouth with a wet pop. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire as he gazed down at me.

 

"It's time," he said, voice thick with arousal.

 

He stood, his impressive erection jutting proudly before him. I remained on my knees, looking up at him expectantly, my body thrumming with need.

 

"I had planned to take you on the breeding bench tonight," he said, gesturing toward the padded apparatus near the wall. "To break you in properly."

 

My gaze flicked to the bench, its leather padding and steel restraints promising delicious torment. A shiver ran through me at the thought.

 

"But," Ransom continued, his expression softening slightly, "since it's your first night home, and you've been such a good boy..." He paused, his hand reaching down to stroke my cheek. "I think you deserve a special reward."

 

Before I could process his words, he bent down and scooped me up in his arms. I yelped in surprise, my tail twitching as he carried me effortlessly across the room. With casual strength, he deposited me onto his massive bed, the plush mattress giving beneath my weight.

 

"Present," he commanded, voice dropping to that register that made my insides quiver.

 

I scrambled to obey, rolling onto my stomach and pushing up onto my knees. My chest pressed against the cool sheets as I arched my back deeply, raising my ass high in the air. My thighs trembled as I spread them wide, exposing my slick, empty hole.

 

I couldn't help the needy whine that escaped me. The lube beads had completely dissolved, leaving me dripping and desperate. Each shift of my hips sent trickles of slickness down my inner thighs. I felt hollow, aching to be filled.

 

The mattress dipped as Ransom climbed onto the bed behind me. His large hands gripped my hips, thumbs spreading my cheeks to expose me fully. I heard his sharp intake of breath as he surveyed his property.

 

"Look at you," he murmured, one finger tracing my swollen rim. "So wet. So ready."

 

I pushed back against his touch, beyond shame, beyond hesitation. My body knew what it needed.

"Please," I thought desperately, unable to form the words but hoping my body would speak for me. "Please fill me."

 

As if reading my mind, Ransom leaned forward, his chest a warm weight against my back. His lips brushed my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

 

"Tonight," he whispered, "you are allowed to come as many times as you want. I want to see how much pleasure your body can take."

 

A sob of gratitude caught in my throat. After the teasing, the denial, the careful control—to be given such freedom was overwhelming.

 

I felt the blunt head of his cock press against my entrance, hot and heavy. My body tensed in anticipation, then—

 

One brutal thrust buried him to the hilt inside me.

 

I screamed, the sound torn from my lungs as he stretched me impossibly wide. There was no gradual adjustment, no gentle easing—just sudden, complete fullness that bordered on pain.

 

"Fuck," Ransom growled, his fingers digging into my hips. "So tight. So perfect."

 

My body spasmed around his invasion, already dangerously close to climax. The cage around my cock felt like torture now, confining my swelling flesh as pleasure built to unbearable heights.

 

Ransom didn't wait for me to adjust. He pulled back until just the head remained inside, then slammed forward again. The force of his thrust pushed me up the bed, my face pressing into the pillows.

 

"That's it," he growled, setting a punishing pace. "Take it all."

 

Each thrust hit something deep inside me that made stars explode behind my eyes. I howled into the bedding, my body surrendering completely to the onslaught of sensation.

 

The first orgasm hit me like a freight train, tearing through me with such intensity that my vision went white. My cock spurted helplessly in its cage, soaking the sheets beneath me as my inner walls clenched rhythmically around Ransom's thick length.

 

But he didn't stop. If anything, my climax spurred him on, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor.

 

"Good boy," he praised, his voice strained with pleasure. "Coming on my cock like you were made for it."

 

I'd never felt anything like it. The toys, the fingers, the plugs—none of them compared to this. This was alive. This was Ransom. This was real.

 

His cock throbbed inside me, hot and velvety, each pulse sending shockwaves through my trembling body. It hurt—a deep, stretching burn that made tears spring to my eyes—but beneath the pain was something electric, something that made my toes curl and my back arch for more.

 

"So tight," he groaned, his hips rolling in slow, devastating circles. "You were made for this, weren't you? Made to take my cock."

 

I couldn't answer—couldn't even think. My world had narrowed to the place where we were joined, to the thick, relentless invasion that was reshaping me from the inside. With each thrust, he claimed new territory, pressing against places inside me that had never been touched.

 

My second orgasm crashed through me without warning, my body convulsing around him as I wailed into the pillow. My caged cock spurted weakly, the pleasure almost painful in its intensity.

 

"That's it," Ransom encouraged, never slowing his pace. "Give me another."

 

He shifted slightly, the angle changing, and suddenly he was hitting something that made my vision blur. My back bowed, a strangled cry tearing from my throat as pleasure spiked through me like lightning.

 

"There it is," he said, satisfaction thick in his voice. "Your sweet spot."

 

He hammered against it mercilessly, each thrust precise and devastating. I sobbed, overwhelmed, my body no longer my own. It belonged to him—to his hands, his cock, his will.

 

My third climax built impossibly fast, cresting before I could prepare. This time it was different—deeper, more intense. My whole body seized, muscles locking as a gush of fluid erupted from my cock, soaking the sheets beneath us.

 

"Fuck," Ransom growled, his rhythm faltering. "So responsive. So perfect."

 

His thrusts grew erratic, his breathing harsh against my ear. With a low, animal sound, he slammed deep one final time, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside me. The heat of his release flooded my insides, marking me from within.

 

I collapsed beneath him, utterly spent, my body twitching with aftershocks. For a moment, there was only the sound of our ragged breathing, the scent of sex heavy in the air.

 

Then, impossibly, I felt him hardening again inside me.

 

"Did you think we were done?" he whispered, nipping at my ear.

 

Before I could process his words, he was moving, flipping me onto my back with effortless strength. My legs splayed open as he positioned himself between them, his cock—still slick with his own release—pressing against my used hole.

 

His hands found my nipples, still swollen and tender from the vet's treatment. When his fingers pinched them, twisted them, I screamed—a third orgasm ripping through me without warning. My body convulsed beneath him, but he never stopped moving, never stopped watching.

 

"So responsive," he murmured, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers. "These are going to be so much fun to play with."

 

He leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while his hips maintained their relentless rhythm. The dual sensation was too much—I came again. 

 

My body spasmed violently as Ransom's mouth worked my nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The world went white as another orgasm tore through me, leaving me gasping and trembling beneath him.

 

"Listen carefully, pup," Ransom growled against my chest, his hips never stopping their punishing rhythm. "Your body belongs to me now. Every inch of it. Every hole. Every response."

 

He punctuated each word with a brutal thrust, driving himself deeper into my quivering body. His hands pinned my wrists above my head, holding me open and vulnerable beneath him.

 

"A Puppy's body exists for his owner's pleasure," he continued, his voice thick with possession. "Every touch is permitted. Every use is sanctioned. You have no right to refuse me anything."

 

I whimpered, tears streaming down my face as pleasure bordered on pain. My hole clenched desperately around him, raw and oversensitive from his relentless use.

 

"In return," he said, his pace slowing slightly as he leaned down to brush his lips against my ear, "you are given a home. A purpose. Protection. Belonging."

 

His words penetrated deeper than his cock ever could, striking something primal inside me. This was what I'd been bred for, trained for, longed for. To be owned completely. To serve without reservation.

 

"You will serve me at my pleasure," Ransom continued, his thrusts building in intensity again. "And I will take care of what's mine."

 

His hand moved to my cage, fingers wrapping around the metal bars, pressing them against my aching flesh. The pressure was exquisite torture.

 

"Come for me again," he commanded. "Show me how well you understand your place."

 

My body obeyed instantly, convulsing around him as a powerful orgasm ripped through me. This time was different—a hot gush erupted from my caged cock, squirting between the bars and splashing against his stomach.

 

"Fuck," Ransom groaned, his rhythm faltering as my inner walls clamped down on him. With a guttural sound, he slammed deep, his cock pulsing as he flooded me with his release for the second time.

 

But even as his orgasm subsided, I could feel him still hard inside me.

 

"On your hands and knees," he ordered, withdrawing suddenly and leaving me gaping and dripping.

 

I scrambled to obey, my limbs shaky and uncoordinated. Before I could fully settle, his hands gripped my hips, yanking me back onto his cock in one smooth motion.

 

"Clean up that mess you made," he said, guiding my face down to where my release had pooled on the sheets. "Show me what a good puppy you are."

 

I lapped at the wetness obediently, tasting myself as he continued to fuck me from behind. The position was deeper, more animalistic. My tail brushed against his stomach with each thrust, a reminder of what I was, what I'd become.

 

"Perfect," he praised, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. "So perfect for me."

 

Time lost all meaning. My world narrowed to the places where we connected—his cock stretching me open, his hands on my body, claiming, possessing. I came again, and again, each orgasm bleeding into the next until I couldn't tell where one ended and another began.

 

When he finally pulled out, I collapsed onto the mattress, trembling and spent. But he wasn't finished.

 

"I'm going to use every hole you have tonight," he promised, setting a new, savage pace. "Mark you from the inside out."

 

His hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back sharply. "You're mine now. My pet. My toy. My good boy."

 

Each thrust pushed his previous load deeper inside me, the obscene squelching sounds filling the room as he fucked his own cum deeper into my body. I moaned helplessly, my arms giving out until my cheek pressed against the mattress, ass still raised high for his use.

 

"That's it," he praised, his hand delivering a stinging slap to my flank. "Take it all."

 

Time lost meaning as he used me. Minutes or hours could have passed as he worked my body like an instrument he'd mastered long ago. When another climax approached, he pulled out suddenly, leaving me empty and whining.

 

"Clean me," he commanded, rolling onto his back beside me.

 

I crawled between his legs, mouth watering at the sight of his cock—slick with lube, cum, and my own juices. Without hesitation, I took him between my lips, moaning at the taste of our mingled essences.

 

His hand cupped the back of my head, guiding me deeper as I licked and sucked him clean. The intimate act of tasting myself on him, of cleaning the evidence of our joining, made my cage tighten painfully around my straining flesh.

 

"Good boy," he murmured, watching me work with heavy-lidded eyes.

 

When he was satisfied with my cleaning, he pushed me away and stood from the bed. I watched, dazed and needy, as he walked to the cabinet by the wall.

 

"We're just getting started," he said, selecting something I couldn't see. "I want to see how many positions that flexible body of yours can take."

 

He returned with a spreader bar, attaching it to my ankles with practiced efficiency. 

 

"On your back," he ordered, helping me roll over.

 

My legs were forced wide apart, exposing my dripping, well-used hole.

 

The position was obscene—legs spread and raised, unable to close. He hooked the bar behind my head, folding me nearly in half, my ass presented perfectly for his use.

 

"Look at you," he said, admiration coloring his voice. "So perfectly positioned. So completely mine."

 

When he entered me again, the angle was devastating. His cock reached places inside me that made stars explode behind my eyes. I screamed, a fresh orgasm washing over me almost immediately.

 

"That's five," he counted, never slowing his pace. "Let's see how many more we can wring from this greedy body before morning."

 

Hours blurred together in a haze of pleasure and use. Ransom took me in every position imaginable—on my side with one leg raised high; seated in his lap, impaled on his cock while he pinched and twisted my nipples; bent over the edge of the bed, his hand around my throat.

 

Between each round, he made me clean him with my mouth, praising my eagerness as I lapped up our combined fluids. Sometimes he would simply rest inside me, still hard but motionless, his weight pinning me to the mattress as he murmured possessive words against my skin.

 

"Such a good pup," he would say, or "Made for this, weren't you?" Each word sank into me like a brand, reshaping my understanding of myself.

 

By the time dawn's light began filtering through the windows, I had lost count of my orgasms. My body was a trembling, oversensitive mess, covered in sweat, saliva, and cum. The sheets beneath us were soaked, the air heavy with the scent of sex and submission.

 

Ransom finally collapsed beside me, his chest heaving with exertion. He reached over, stroking my hair with unexpected tenderness.

 

"Rest now," he murmured, pulling me against his chest. "You've earned it."

 

I curled into him, my body aching in ways I'd never experienced before. As sleep claimed me, I felt something I hadn't known in my life at the Farm—complete and utter belonging.

 

That was six months ago. Six months of learning what it means to truly be owned.

 

Life with Ransom has settled into a rhythm as natural as breathing. Each morning begins the same way—I wake curled at the foot of his bed, my body automatically responding to his stirring before he even opens his eyes. Sometimes he'll guide me beneath the sheets to wake him with my mouth. Other mornings, he'll simply pat the mattress, signaling me to crawl up and present myself for his morning use.

 

My body has changed under his care. My nipples are permanently swollen now, sensitive to the slightest brush of fabric. He keeps them clamped most days, the constant pressure a reminder of who I belong to. The chain between them jingles when I move, a delicate sound that makes my insides flutter.

 

My hole stays perpetually ready for him. After that first night, Ransom rarely bothers with lube anymore—my body produces enough slickness on its own, trained to respond to his mere presence. He'll sometimes slide his fingers inside me during breakfast, casually checking my readiness while reading the morning paper, Mrs. Wilkes serving coffee without batting an eye.

 

The cage comes off only for cleaning and milking sessions. Twice a week, Ransom straps me to the breeding bench in his private room, inserts the milking device, and extracts every drop my body can produce. He times these sessions, keeping meticulous records of my output and responsiveness. "Proper pet maintenance," he calls it, his clinical detachment during these procedures somehow making them more intensely arousing.

 

My training progressed quickly. Within weeks, I learned to anticipate his needs before he voiced them—fetching his slippers when he returns home, positioning myself for use when his eyes darken with desire, remaining perfectly still during his business calls even as he idly plays with my body.

 

The collar never comes off. Sometimes, when we're alone in his study, he'll hook a finger through the metal ring and pull me close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers all the filthy, wonderful things he plans to do to me. My body responds instantly, trembling with anticipation.

 

Dr. Hayes visits monthly for check-ups. These sessions are clinical but no less intense—my body measured, probed, documented. Ransom watches from his armchair, occasionally suggesting new modifications. The piercings came after the third visit—delicate gold rings through my now-permanently enlarged nipples. The sensitivity is almost unbearable, each tiny movement sending sparks through my chest.

 

I haven't spoken a word since arriving. Puppies don't talk—they communicate through sounds, through body language, through obedience. Sometimes, late at night when Ransom is buried deep inside me, I find myself grateful for this rule. What words could possibly capture the perfection of belonging so completely to someone?

 

There are rules, of course. Strict ones. I'm never to climb on furniture without permission. My meals are eaten from a bowl on the floor. When guests visit, I remain at Ransom's feet, invisible unless he chooses to display me. Disobedience is rare but swiftly corrected—the crop, the cane, the spreader bar, each punishment tailored to remind me of my place.

 

But there are rewards too. When I please him—when I take his cock particularly well, or anticipate a need before he expresses it—he'll scratch behind my ears and call me his "good boy." Those two words light me up from the inside, more powerful than any physical pleasure.

 

Some nights, after he's used me thoroughly, he'll allow me to curl against his side while he reads. His fingers will stroke my hair absently, and in those quiet moments, I feel a peace I never knew existed. This is what I was made for—to belong, to serve, to please.

 

Mrs. Wilkes has grown accustomed to finding us in compromising positions. She simply works around us, polishing surfaces or delivering messages while Ransom might be buried deep inside me on his office desk. The first time she walked in on him fucking my throat in the kitchen, I tensed with embarrassment. Now, it's just another part of the household routine.

 

Ransom entertains occasionally. Elite guests arrive in expensive cars, sipping whiskey in his study while discussing business matters I don't understand. Sometimes these gatherings become demonstrations—Ransom displaying my training for appreciative audiences. I've learned to perform on command, to display my flexibility, my endurance, my complete surrender to his will.

 

Ransom's pleasure is my pleasure. I've learned this truth deep in my bones. When he smiles at my obedience, something inside me glows warmer than any physical sensation. When he comes inside me, my body responds with its own climax, trained to peak when he does. We're connected now—his satisfaction directly wired to my own.

 

My favorite times, though, are the quiet evenings when it's just the two of us. Ransom will sit in his leather chair by the fire, reading glasses perched on his nose, one hand absently stroking my head as I kneel beside him. In those moments, I feel the depth of our connection—beyond the sex, beyond the power exchange. A harmony that feels ancient and right.

 

Sometimes, I catch him watching me with an expression I can't quite name. Something softer than desire, more complex than possession. In those moments, I wonder if he feels it too—this perfect alignment of souls, this rightness that transcends the roles we play.

 

The things Ransom does to keep me in a constant state of arousal would shock even the most experienced pets at the Farm. Every morning after breakfast, he inserts a special vibrating plug that responds to his phone. Throughout the day, while he's at work and I'm home with Mrs. Wilkes, he'll activate it without warning. Sometimes it's a gentle pulse while I'm cleaning the floors on all fours. Other times it's a sudden, brutal vibration that leaves me whimpering and drooling on the kitchen tiles.

 

The worst—or perhaps best—is when he turns it on during my daily exercise routine. Mrs. Wilkes supervises as I crawl through the obstacle course Ransom had built in the garden. The moment I reach the tunnel, the plug will spring to life, making me collapse mid-crawl, my limbs shaking as pleasure courses through me. Mrs. Wilkes simply checks her watch. "That's another ten seconds added to your time, Freckles. Master Ransom won't be pleased."

 

The denial is the most exquisite torture. Some mornings, Ransom will edge me for hours, bringing me to the brink of orgasm over and over but never allowing me release. He'll use his mouth, his hands, various toys—working my body into a frenzy of need before locking me back in my cage and leaving for work. Those days, I spend hours in a haze of desperate arousal, my body hypersensitive to every brush of air.

 

Last week, he tried something new. He attached thin golden chains to my nipple rings, connecting them to the cage around my cock. Every movement caused a delicious tug—impossible to find a position that didn't stimulate some part of me. I spent the entire day in a state of trembling need, unable to escape the constant reminder of my arousal.

 

Sometimes he'll invite other Elites over specifically to test my training. They'll sit in the living room, sipping expensive brandy while Ransom demonstrates my obedience. "Freckles can hold a climax for forty-five minutes now," he'll say casually, as if discussing the weather. Then he'll insert a vibrator and order me not to come, no matter what they do to me. They take turns touching, teasing, tormenting—and I endure it all, tears streaming down my face, body shaking with the effort of restraint.

 

The prostate milking sessions have increased to three times weekly. Ransom has become an expert at extracting multiple dry orgasms from me, keeping me strapped to the bench long after I'm spent and shaking. "Just one more," he'll murmur, fingers pressing relentlessly against that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. "Show me how much you have left to give."

 

Yet despite all this—the constant arousal, the denial, the training that keeps my body perpetually on edge—nothing compares to my favorite part of each day.

 

At precisely 5:30 PM, I position myself by the front door. My tail swishes with anticipation as I listen for the sound of his car in the driveway. Mrs. Wilkes smiles knowingly as she passes. "Right on time, as always."

 

The moment the lock turns, my heart races. The door swings open, and there he stands—my Master, my world. Everything else falls away. The ache in my knees from kneeling on the hard floor, the constant throbbing of my caged cock, the tender soreness of my well-used hole—all of it fades against the joy of seeing him return.

 

"Hello, Pup," he'll say, those simple words washing over me like a blessing.

 

I crawl to him immediately, my tail wagging frantically. He lets his briefcase drop to stroke behind my ears and I lean into his touch, whimpering with happiness. And, looking up at the man who owns every part of me, I feel it again—that bone-deep certainty.

 

This is where I belong. This is who I am.

 

His pet. His possession. His good boy.

 

And as his hands reach for me, as his eyes darken with familiar hunger, I surrender to it completely. Again and again and again.

 

Forever.

 

THE END