Becoming Romeo: UK lad quits his life to become a full-time dog.
I wanted to be Martin's boyfriend so bad. He'd been choking me with his dick, holding my head down tight against his warm crotch with egotistical disregard for months. Fit, arrogant, and crazy rich, Martin was the best Grindr score of my life. I thought he'd never want to see me again, but he was always super horny after his gym sessions, and I was a guaranteed blow. I'm still hoping one day he'll loosen my leash for good and invite me to sleep in his bed for once, but being his dog is absolutely the next best thing in every possible way.
Oh yeah, and when I say I'm his dog I don't mean a cheeky bit of pup-play every Friday night (tho that is how it started). I mean I'm his dog, mate. Twenty-Four Seven, sleeping in a basket, eating from a bowl on the kitchen floor. I don't even speak now. It's been trained out of me. I only bark. Nice and loud like dogs do.
"Nah, I don't want a boyfriend," he sniffed after creaming my tonsils and smacking me in the face, "You can be my dog if you like, though."
"I'll be your dog!" I jumped, bouncing up onto the mattress where he was slouching, making himself comfortable.
"Dog's aren't allowed on the bed!" he snapped, giving me a heavy shove backwards.
I wanted to please him so much I found myself assuming a good sitting dog pose at the end of the bed, my eyes glistening with adoration and guilt.
"That's more like it," Martin snorted.
I pushed my nose around on his grubby white socks, sniffing all his sweaty smells. He's not even the best looking guy. I bet heaps of guys swipe left, thinking his forehead's too big, or his expression is too smug, or they're don't like clean-shaven guys. He doesn't even wear the right sports brands. It's always some dorky brand name on his polo shirt like Canterbury. But the way he brags, like he's God's gift, its so fucking sexy.
Next time he summoned me to his fancy new-build apartment he had a whole bunch of toys. Leashes and collars, a springy dog tail butt-plug. Even squeaky dog toys for me bite on. He was so rich he could buy anything just like that. He didn't even have a job, just spent his Dad's money.
I did my best to act like a puppy, which pleased him at the time, but it was nothing compared to what I do for him now. I yapped and scampered about on his floor. Just a bit of fun before he fucked my face again.
Every time there was something new, taking it a step further. Martin had been obsessing over pup-play porn and getting new ideas. Before long, his phone was full of videos of me on my hands and knees, drinking from dog bowls or catching treats thrown my way. Anything to win his approval.
He kept saying he'd drag me outside like that to take me on a walk, and the threat was thrilling until it became a reality.
Got a surprise text at 11pm. Martin never called me that late. He normally quit the gym about 7, and I'd be dismissed a half hour later. Just said,
"Get over here."
I pulled my sneakers on and came running.
When I got there he was cross. I was used to his moods, he was usually mardy after his workout and I liked it when he was short with me. But this time he seemed proper worked up and bothered. Probably spent hours jerking off over his pup porn and needed to let off some steam.
I let him collar me, bung my butt with that silicone tail, and clip my ankles to my balls with short chains that prevented me from extending my legs and standing tall. We'd done it many times before, but this time we were actually leaving the house.
He belted my poor ass mercilessly, going red in the face, to get me over the threshold and out through the door.
I felt lightheaded and sick in the stomach crouched by Martin's feet in the elevator, going down with a monumental sense of burgeoning dread. I hoped he was just trying to scare me. That he might pace around in the lobby, make a video, and let me run back into his penthouse on the top floor. But no.
Martin was dead serious about going out into the night. He yanked on my leash, and struck me with his belt. Once he finally got me moving I went fast, trying to get it over with.
Right on his doorstep there's always big crowd of Men smoking outside the local. They jeered and laughed as I went by on my kneepads and cycling gloves. I heard Martin chat back at the louts, but I couldn't look and hurried past.
I took a sharp left down the next side street, checking to see if we'd walked far enough, but Martin wanted to go all round the houses. The air was cool all over my bare-naked skin, and my ankles were tugging brutally on my balls. Everything was painful and uncomfortable, and apocalyptically humiliating.
"Can we go back now, please Martin?" I begged pathetically.
But Martin only "shhh-ed" me, putting his earpods in and selecting his dog-walk playlist like a Boss. It seemed to go on forever.
Eventually he stopped me by a bunch of dumpsters with a sudden jerk on the leash. The place reeked of piss, and he told me to pee. I lifted my leg but I couldn't go. Just then a couple of hot girls came past and screamed with laughter, pointed at my tiny penis and making pictures on their phones. Martin took his earphones out to flirt with them, acting cool like it was nothing special.
When the girls finally moved on he got impatient, threatening the belt if I didn't piss on the bins,
"Do a dog piss! We're not going till I've seen you pee!"
I managed a little piss and his mood completely changed. I was a good boy again, and Martin seemed chuffed. That's still his favourite bit of a dog walk, watching me pee.
But our first walk still wasn't over. As we crossed the green, a gang of hooded lads howled and chased us down.
"That's fucking sick!" they grinned, snapping their fingers.
"This guy's a fucking G," nodded one lad, bumping fists with Martin and turning to his mate, "I'm gonna make you my dog, innit,"
"Fuck off," his mate complained, "you'd be my dog."
"Here, take mine," Martin suggested, puffing on his Marlboro and handing the first lad my leash.
"What? Yes, blud!" he hooted, grabbing his crotch and getting his mates to take pictures on his phone, "I got a Whitey on a fuckin' leash, Bruv!"
"You should get on Grindr," Martin suggested, "white boys are all pathetic faggots like that."
"Nah, mate, nah..." he laughed, but Martin insisted.
"No jokes, they'll be fighting over each other to be your dog, mate."
