A day at the pound

I need to know more about puppy play. Today's request was to see a nice human dog pound, and a delightful examination of the (human) doggie adoption process.

I hope I did it some justice. But to really understand it, I probably need a bit of experience. I probably need someone to dress me up as a leather bound puppy and train me ... you know... for research.

Day at the Pound

Connie tapped the door and smiled at the pair of eyes that greeted her through the slot. The slot closed, and Connie counted as the bolt unlatched, then the chain, then a second bolt, an finally the door itself shuddered, then slid open. Connie walked in to the open hallway.

“Extra security?” she asked.

“We need to keep our inventory safe, ma'am,” the door man said, his eyes warm and his smile kind. “Can't go having them feel unsafe.”

“Was there an attempted break in?” She asked. “Or a break out?”

He shook his head. “No ma'am. No one is here against their will.”

Connie looked at the door. Every lock on the door, even the bar that locked the frame in place, was only locked from the inside. Anyone inside could open the door, even without the use of their thumbs.

“Are you intending to adopt today?”

Connie smiled. “That's the goal,” she said. “Assuming there's one that fits my requirements.”

“Of course. We would never dream of asking you to lower your standards.” The doorman waved Connie into the viewing room with a slight bow. “Please, have a seat. We'll bring them in for your inspection.”

Connie walked past the man into the empty room. “None of the ones I've seen before,” she says, not looking back.

“Of course.”


Connie settles into the comfortable leather chair and crosses her legs, bobbing one foot, the heel of her shoe sliding off and balancing on her stockinged toes. She looks at the door she came in through, then at the door on the other side of the room. There is a soft tap, and then the inner door opens up.

She watches the pup, ignoring the handler. The paws are soft round gloves, leaving no evidence of fingers. The pup's skin is bare from wrist to shoulder, where the harness crosses his chest and hooks to the belt at his waist. He crawls on knees covered in knee pads. His mouth is gagged with a plastic bone strapped behind his head. The collar is thick leather with wicked looking spikes bordering it, held closed with a heavy padlock.

Connie looks him up and down. The equipment is somewhat cheap, simplistic, but with a certain charm. The man inside is out of shape, but not terribly so. He crawls with purpose, and he keeps his eyes dutifully downcast. When he is placed in front of her, he settled into sitting position, knees spread wide so she can see the plastic caging around his cock. Also cheap, but that sort of thing wasn't important.

Connie sits looking at him for several minutes, not moving, not saying a word. She lets her eyes trace the curves of his body. She looks at the hair on his arms and on his chest, at the few extra pounds forming love handles at his sides. She looks at his toe nails to see how well groomed they are. He has the beginning of a beard, but she knows that the pups had been checked in for several days before they were put up for adoption. Not his fault the grooming was a bit out of hand.

She looks at the cage and the shiny little lock on it. The cage looks well worn, the lock clean and well maintained. Put on and taken off somewhat frequently.

Connie waits, watching him. He wriggles a little bit, shifting his weight as he grows uncomfortable sitting there. His eyes begin to dart around the room. He looks at the dangling shoe on her foot. He trails his eyes up the curve of her legs. Then he looks up at her, and makes eye contact. It's just a second. But it's enough.

“Next,” she says.

The second pup to come in is completely hairless. There isn't even a sign that it's starting to grow back down his legs or his arms. Did he wax? His face is covered in the leather of a hood, complete with the muzzle of a dog nose in soft brown. His hands are hidden in a pair of leather paws, the kind that look like actual dog claws. His collar is soft leather with a choke chain wrapped around and laced through it, allowing the handler to yank and actually choke him a little bit as she pulls him into the room. He wears leather shorts, with a tail sticking out that clearly is attached to something shoved deep inside him. His feet are wrapped in leather, and his knees have very subtle pads to keep the weight distributed better.

He sits in front of her, legs spread, paws in front of him, eyes looking up at her. They aren't making eye contact, just looking up at her with the excitement of a real dog, the thrill of someone he might be able to play with. She watches as he wags his tail, listens as he pants, literally pants, in excitement.

He lets out a little whine as the time passes, then a whimper. His tail stops wagging, his shoulders sag a little bit.

She stares at him for a few more seconds, and he wilts under the onslaught of her gaze. He settles down, and doesn't even need to be dismissed.

Connie sighs, wondering if this will be another wasted visit. She considers the number of times she's sat in this very chair, the number of puppies that have paraded past her. Some too out of shape to be taken seriously. Some too in love with their own bodies to be considered truly submissive. Some who seem in it only for the equipment, some who are in it only for the humiliation. None of them are what Connie is looking for.

When the third puppy comes in, Connie barely pays any attention to the procession as he comes in. She doesn't really pay attention to the body stocking that borders on zentai, at the collar that looks like it used to actually be a belt. She doesn't look at the paws even enough to notice that they are literally boxing gloves taped up with duct tape. She doesn't look at the butt plug tail trailing behind him, or at the muzzle that looks almost home made. Connie pays practically no attention to the pup as he sits back on his haunches and holds up his paws, begging her. She doesn't even realize that he's looking right at her.

“Is it me?” she asks, to no one. “Am I being too picky?”

The pup turns his head to the side.

“Maybe I just don't really know what I want.” She reaches down and slides her shoe all the way back on. “Maybe I just think I want a dog. But what if it's just the desire? What if there isn't really a dog that I want out there?”

The pup rests his paws on the floor and shifts his legs a bit.

“All I wanted was a good, obedient, submissive boy. One who cared more about being a pet than about the costuming. I just want someone who is in it for the role play, not for their own gratification.”

The pup makes a soft whining sound and moves towards her. Connie continues to ignore him.

“I want someone who can be taken care of, who can be my pup full time. One I can feed from a bowl. One who will sleep in a cage. One who wants it all the time. Full time, not just on weekends for kicks.”

The pup whines again and presses his face, the blank mask of lycra, against her leg.

Connie looks down at him, as if noticing him for the first time.

“Was that an offer?” she asks. “You want to be my full time puppy?”

He nods, exaggerating the movement enough that it barely looks human.

“You know I only want you as a dog,” she says. “I'm not looking for a slave who wants to talk to me, or for a person to go out with. You'd just be a dog. Nothing else.”

The pup whines, but wags his tail.

“I can't promise any kind of sexual relief,” she says. “In fact, I'd probably keep you in chastity pretty much forever. You'd have to really earn it. So you'd have to be a really, really good boy.”

His tail wags again.

Connie laughs, reaches down and rubs one hand down his face, or down the cloth that covers his face. She hooks one finger under his collar and yanks him towards her.

“And if you're a bad boy,” she says, “Then I will punish you in ways that you cannot imagine, ways that you absolutely will not enjoy. Understand?”

He nods, quickly.

Connie smiles.

“Good boy,” she says.