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Puppy Training 101

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Puppy Training 101

“What do you think?” Jeff scratched the puppy’s ear, reducing it to a wriggle and a whine. “Cute, huh?”

I did that when he petted me. Didn’t mean I wanted to see a real dog do it. “One of his ears is lopsided, he limps, and he’s got a mean look in his eyes.”

“What?” Jeff turned the pup, a mongrel if ever I saw one, and studied its face. In return, it licked his nose. Unhygienic and clearly badly trained. “No way. This pup’s made of candy canes and chocolate. And the limp…never mind.”

“Chocolate’s poisonous for dogs.” I edged toward the door of the pound. “Can we go? Because I’ve got masses of Christmas shopping to do and we agreed both of us had to like the dog or we wouldn’t adopt it.”

“Yeah, I know.” The pup barked and wriggled its butt again, but Jeff set it back in its cage, closing the door carefully. “Let’s head out.”

He didn’t look at me when he said it, but he didn’t look back at the puppy when it barked either.

***
Jeff was out with friends, celebrating a birthday, but I’d begged off. Literally, on my knees, nuzzling his hand as he stroked my face, and he’d agreed to go alone.

After easing down his zipper and letting me suck him dry, that is. He tasted clean from his shower, his cock warm against my tongue, and I used every trick I knew to make the blowjob last, but eventually he cried out and shot, filling my mouth. I swallowed and he pulled out, wiping his cock against my cheek, leaving his scent on me.

“Be good,” he said, with a hint of sternness. “No alcohol or candy. There’s water in your bowl and you’re to stay down unless there’s an emergency. “

That was shorthand for staying in puppy mode, on my hands and knees, collar around my neck, naked, a butt plug and tail stretching my hole, mitts on my hands. I nodded, and turned, presenting my butt for the insertion of the plug. He took his own sweet time fetching it and the lube, but I didn’t move, quivering with arousal, knowing he’d enjoy picturing me hard and aching, waiting for him to come home. My erection would subside, but not the longing.

The burn of the plug told me he’d used a size up from the usual one. That could be to punish me or to reinforce the dynamic between us. I could’ve asked which it was, but I stayed silent, already deep in a mindset where spoken words didn’t belong.
“Sweet pup,” he told me, fastening the mitts on my hands. “Be good for me, you hear?”
I barked, a sharp sound he had no trouble interpreting as agreement.

The door closed behind him, I whined and crawled to my kennel in the den, a room only we used these days. My kennel had a padded floor and a hook set into the wall. I was put there after a spanking, leash attached to the hook, my ass burning, my face wet with tears, to think over what I’d done. Now I went there to think about what I’d done and not gotten punished for.

We’d discussed a dog and agreed to it in theory. In practice, jealousy and possessiveness I was ashamed of had made me veto every dog we’d seen. Jeff had been patient, even offering to table the adoption, but I’d continued to insist I wanted a pet while steadfastly blocking any progress toward that goal.

I know. Made no sense. But I didn’t want my Master to see my flaws. Bad enough that I knew they existed.

I turned around three times and settled into a comfortable position, but I was restless. The pup’s brown eyes haunted me. It’d been such a tiny scrap of a dog.

I left my kennel and went to the laptop on the kitchen table. Too high to reach without breaking the rules and standing, but I’d need to remove the mitts to use it anyway. I couldn’t fasten them myself, so Jeff would know I’d been disobedient. I got a not-so-secret thrill out of being punished, but disappointing my Master left me uneasy with guilt. Better to beg for a whipping than earn one.

Unavoidable tonight. I set the laptop on the carpet, sitting out of the question, and navigated to the pound’s site.

The pub, Jake, was still listed as available. I clicked on his history. Shit. Left by the side of a busy road, he’d fought free of the sack imprisoning him, and been hit a glancing blow by a car, driven, luckily, by a woman who’d stopped, rushed him to a vet, and paid for his treatment. But she was the mother of a child with severe allergies and Jake had ended up waiting for adoption. He’d been in that cage for three weeks now.

I was sobbing by the time I finished reading, messy, snotty tears, washing away the horrible emotions clogging my soul and leaving me with only one worry; that Jake wouldn’t be there when we went back to the pound.

He was. And the lick he gave my hand when I picked him up for my first cuddle was forgiving, loving, happy. Or maybe he was after the treat I held.

Training was important. I knew that. But a little spoiling and a lot of love were too.

I knew that from experience.