Puppy play is awesome, in my opinion. Not only does it have a huge dehumanizing/degradation element to it, but it probably answers all those issues and desires about bestiality. Puppy play is a way to sexualize a dog without sexualizing an ACTUAL dog. Besides, puppy play has tons and tons of leather involved. And leather is good.
Kibbles and Boots
His eyes opened when he heard her come
in the front door. He raised his head, but there was nothing to see
through the leather of the mask. He made a whimpering sound, like
he'd been trained.
“Good dog.” Her voice was just
outside the cage, and had a little bit of a laugh in it. He heard the
jiggling of keys unlocking his cage, then the groan of the metal as
it opened along the hinge. There was a clipping sound, then the
familiar tugging.
He crawled out, pressing the pads
around his hands against the floor, the little locks around the
zippers scraping along the tile.
She pulled him along, and he listened
to the click of her heels on the floor. He tried to picture which
boots she was wearing based on the sound they made, the click of the
heel, that special thud of the toe. He heard the leather stretch as
she walked. They were at least ankle high. Clunky heel.
“Did you have a good day today,
puppy?”
He wagged his butt back and forth,
letting the plug with its tail show her how happy he was that she was
home.
She laughed.
“My day was interesting. Why don't
we watch TV, and I'll tell you all about it.”
She pulled him across the tile, over
to the carpet. When she stopped pulling, she tapped under his stomach
with her boot. He immediately got up on to all fours, and she put her
boots up on his back.
The television turned on, but he
wasn't paying any attention to what she was watching. The boot under
his stomach didn't have any laces. The heels she lay on his back were
rounded and felt like wood. There were no zippers up the back of the
leg. But the leather did go up to at least her knees.
The leather creaked again as she
crossed her ankles. “The day started off pretty normally,” she
said. He heard her tapping a pack of cigarettes against her hand.
“Got to work without any trouble, without any real traffic. My
stupid secretary even had my coffee ready on time.”
She opened the pack of cigarettes and,
from the sound of it, pulled out a cigarette.
“I worked on old cases most of the
morning,” she said. He heard her strike a match. She inhaled and
let out a breath, moaning in pleasure. She took her feet down and
gave him another kick. He spun on his knees until he was facing her.
She unzipped his muzzle. He leaned his head back and opened his
mouth.
She flicked some ash into it. He heard
her make another inhalation. “Good dog,” she said.
He didn't respond, just swallowed the
ash and held his mouth open as she continued her story.
“When my secretary went out to
lunch, I overheard him talking about one of the partners getting
sick, planning to retire,” she inhaled again, flicked more ash into
his mouth. “Standard water cooler gossip crap. Normally, I wouldn't
pay any attention; those sorts of rumors happen every time someone
has so much as a cold.”
She flicked more ash into his mouth.
He did his best to swallow, to ignore the taste of tobacco. “But my
secretary, as incompetent as he is, is also the nephew of one of the
partners. The one who is sick.
“So after lunch, I called him into
my office and asked if it was true.”
She took a deep inhale, flicked a
large chunk of ash into his mouth, and then blew the smoke out into
his face. He tried not to cough, but she laughed when he did.
“Turned out that not only is it
true, but that word is that a promotion is heading my way. And, as
long as I can put up with his idiocy when he comes with me, I'll be
moving up soon. Isn't that great?”
He wagged his tail again, and she
flicked more ash into his mouth. “It means more money, better
hours. All that good stuff. And it means that I can finally afford to
have my puppy full time. Would you like that? We could solder those
locks so they'll never come off. Would you be my slave forever?”
He held still, not sure what to say.
She laughed again, flicked more ash into his mouth, and then slapped
him, hard, across the face. He flinched, and she hit him again,
harder. The third hit knocked him to the floor.
Her boot was on his throat as she
stubbed out her cigarette. “I think I'm going to start rolling my
own,” she said. “Then I won't have to worry about you eating
fiberglass. I hate having cigarette butts. What good are you as an
ashtray if I then have to get rid of all these butts?”
He didn't move, didn't make a sound.
She pressed down, just a little. Not enough to cut his air supply
off, but enough to cut it down.
“Maybe then you'd learn your place,”
she said. “Then you'd be a good dog. A better dog.” She lifted
her boot from his throat and walked away. She slapped one hand
against her leg. “Come on, puppy. Time for food.”
He crawled after her, towards her
voice, carefully avoiding the furniture whose positions he had
memorized. Once he was in the kitchen, she kicked him, hard, in the
stomach. He wasn't expecting it, and the force of it blasted him onto
his back and the air out of his lungs. He lay there, coughing, and
didn't resist when she straddled his chest. He kept his eyes closed
as she unhooked the strap around his head and pulled off the muzzle,
leaving him in just a plain leather mask. She attached a new blind
fold, then gave him a quick kiss on the lips before getting up.
“Don't worry,” she said. “I'm
not going to break the locks any time soon. Not until you're ready.”
He heard a can opening, and heard her
scooping dog food out into his bowl. “Now you eat,” she said.
“I'm going to finish watching my show. Come back in when you
finish. My boots are filthy.”
He heard her walk away, then followed
his nose to the bowl of dog food. It tasted as bad as ever, but it
was nutritious. He pulled the food into his mouth with his tongue,
chewed it as best he could, and swallowed quickly, but never fast
enough to avoid the taste.
He drained the stagnant water in his
other bowl in a vain attempt to try to wash out the taste, then
crawled back towards the sound of the television.
“Did you enjoy your dinner puppy?”
She chuckled, and he felt one boot press against his chest. “Here's
your dessert.”
Behind the blindfold, he rolled his
eyes at that, but didn't let it stop his tongue from slipping out
along the leather. He slid around the inside of her foot, over the
brief zipper over her ankle that let her slide the boots on and off.
She laughed as he did that. “Very
impressive, puppy,” she said. “I was wondering if you'd figured
it out.”
He held her leg up with his hand pads
and pressed his tongue against her boot. He licked, thinking about
how it felt being so completely surrounded by leather. The harness
around his waist that held his cock locked up and his tail plugged
in, the pads over his knees, the mittens on his hands, the mask over
his head. He licked the leather of her boot, sliding his tongue over
the bones on top of her foot, and thought about the tight press of
leather against his face. He inhaled deeply, smelling her leather,
her excitement.
“Good doggy,” she said.
She rubbed her other boot against his
chest and moaned softly as he kept running his tongue over the
leather. She pressed the sole into his face, letting him push his
tongue into the tread. He licked clean the bottom of her boot, and
she wriggled a little in joy. “I do so love how attentive you are,
puppy,” she said. “So ardently attacking anything that might have
been caught in my treads.” She leaned forward and patted him on the
head. “Such a good dog.”
He smiled, but did not stop or slow
his licking. He kept his tongue moving, pressing it hard against her
leg as he licked up her calf, trying to give her at least a little
massage, trying to lick the away stress of her day.
She pulled away the boot as soon as he
was finished, and pressed the other one to his chest, letting him
start over. He ran his tongue up the side of her boot and heard the
leather bending as she inspected the other one.
“This is nice work, puppy,” she
said. “I always knew you were a good bootlicker.”
He slid his tongue up around the
zipper again, kissing his way up and around the edges of the leather
before resuming the pressure of his tongue.
She moaned softly as he licked. At
some point, she turned off the television. There was no sound other
than her soft moans.
“You are mine, puppy,” she said.
“Every way. From every angle. Mine.”
He smiled as he licked, as he thought
about what she said. It was true. He couldn't see anything but
darkness, unless she let him see. He couldn't hear anything but her
moans, or her orders, or whatever else she wanted him to hear. He
couldn't smell anything but leather, or occasionally her own arousal. He tasted only what she decided to put in his mouth, and he felt
whatever she decided to press up against him. The mittens robbed him
of thumbs, the collar and the cage robbed him of freedom for as long
as she wanted to keep him.
For as long as he remained her good
dog.
He licked up the leather, flicking his
tongue against the skin behind her knee. She giggled, and swatted at
him, but he was already on his way back down to her heel.
She made contented sighs as he slid
over the leather. When he finished, she curled the toe of her boot up
under his chin. “You've done such a good job, puppy.” Her other
boot slid along his shoulder, her foot curling around the back of his
head. She pulled him forward, between her legs. “Good doggy,” she
said.
He immediately returned to licking,
and she moaned again, putting her feet down on the floor and her
hands onto his head.
“Such a good puppy.”
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