I fantasized about being a carefree, well-trained bitch. I didn’t share my fantasies with anyone. The truth is my desire to be a dog was more than a silly fantasy. I’d gone to counseling for a while, but it didn’t work out. He’d been out of graduate school for three or four years and couldn’t get his mind around the depth of my desire to be a furry canine. Later, I found comfort with other people who “got me.”
Men and women who shared my desire to leave normality behind. My connection with other furries made me happy. It was far better for my mental health than counseling. But even then, I slowly began to realize that my desire to surrender my girlhood in favor of a canine life was more extreme than most people, even those in the furry community. Then I met Paul.
He didn’t want to be a canine. He wasn’t a furry. But oh, he got me. We met at a convention. We connected immediately. We dated for six months before we got married. Paul didn’t want me to work. He set up cameras, so he could monitor me when he was at work.
If I didn’t get on the couch or hide his stuff, he’d reward me. Slowly, he removed the clothing from my closet. I began to sleep at the foot of the bed. I’d crawl around wearing the collar and muzzle he bought me, pretending to be a bitch dog like my beloved childhood pet, Pepper, a black shepherd/lab.
Sometimes, Paul’s voice would come over the Intercom and he’d give me permission to reach under our bed and pull out the box where I kept my favorite passion red, ribbed for my pleasure thick dildo with its tapered girth. Soon, I’d be on my hands and knees, using the full ten-inches to great effect, little panting moans escaping my throat.
I’d be in the ‘doggie’ position of course, knowing Paul was watching me, videoing me. Paul and I lived on a thirty-acre farm in Vermont, west of Chester. Lots of big green trees and chilly weather this time of year. He was very successful.
Later, I might curl up on the couch and wait for Paul to come home. I’d have vivid dreams in which I was a prize pup with Paul my trainer. I’d wriggle as I was judged, soaked up the adulation.
But I was also aroused by my nudity, my vulnerability as a dog without rights. Paul would stroke my back and pat my head. I’d be so happy. But I also imagined the judges inspecting me intimately. Touching me, stroking me as I knelt there on my hands and knees. Often, I’d wake aroused and wet.
I’ve always been extreme about my interests. Paul encouraged me to be even more extreme about my life as his pet. We met other people less and less often as I ceased to go out. He took my credit cards and driver license.
I let him. I was eager for this. I’ll admit that when he brought home divorce papers, I was … hurt, but he was right. I couldn’t be both his wife and his pet. The sex though. It was insanely hot. Honestly, I think he almost felt guilty fucking me.
Using my throat. But I was his … well, no longer wife. But his most beloved pet. Then one day, He brought home this amazing collar. Paul’s an engineer and this collar was not only beautiful with in pink leather with small silver studs and three ‘D’ rings incorporated into the design. But it also had sections with twin contact studs that were hardly thicker than the rest of the collar.
“It’s lovely,” I whispered softly as he put it on me. The click signaling that the tight band was locked in place sent a thrill down my spine. It was so perfect, so loving of Paul to design and manufacture this for me.
It fit perfectly and profoundly affected my emotions. I also realized that Paul had locked it in place and the collar somehow felt like a permanent fixture that would never be removed. Of course, I knew that was a silly idea, but it stuck with me. It wasn’t an ordinary collar.
My heart kind of went thump when I realized the collar came with a remove and–as Paul explained–could deliver a powerful shock. He then armed the collar and opened another box that contained what I thought of as a recording device.
Paul smiled. “I’ve recorded a dog bark. You can use it to communicate with me.” He switched his recorder on and sure enough realistic dog barks rang out. He started his recorder going. “I want you to copy them Ruby.”
I squirmed, feeling a combination of nerves and arousal. Then, feeling silly, I tried barking. He had me do it several times, but it was when he started spanking my bottom every time, he thought the sound was off that he decided I’d done well enough to use my barking as the recording for the collar.
It was then he pulled out his laptop and began to run a software program. He downloaded the date into the little chip in my collar. “Now, if the sounds you make match the sound of barking, the collar will remain inactive,” he explained. “But if you try to speak or your voice doesn’t track the sound wave of you barking, it’ll trigger a disciplinary shock.” His voice had grown firmer.
It turned me on. Everything about this turned me on, but I also felt like I was losing control. He activated the collar and smiled.
I stared at him, anxious about whether the collar would recognize my attempts. Then I made a little barking sound and waited. Nothing happened. I barked several times more.
“Good girl Ruby!” Paul–my now ex-husband–said as he patted my shoulder. He had crouched down so his eyes were level with mine. We spent the next ten minutes playing. I sort of indicated without saying anything that I wondered if I should try to talk.
But he shook his head. “Please don’t do that. It’s a significant “big dog” jolt, safe, but effective. And the length of the shock will increase if you keep trying to use a “non-dog” voice.
I felt nervous as I recalled that I couldn’t simply remove the collar. It was literally locked in place. Paul smiled. “It’s okay girl,” he said. “Give me your right hand.”
I did so and was shocked as he gripped it firmly. Then he began to tape my hand into a balled-up fist. He did the same with the other hand. When he saw me staring in shock, he explained, “It’ll help you walk on your hands and knees.:
Then he applied fitted mittens over my taped-up hands. Soon, I could no longer open my hand no matter how hard I tried. It wasn’t super tight, but it was very firm. He was rummaging in the black leather briefcase he always carried, and I saw him taking out something like support socks. But different.
He began to turn me and soon, he was putting a large open end against my knee. It was like a large elastic sleeve, tight and he worked it over my knee and then lifted my leg and managed to pull it up and to the top of my thigh.
The part over my knees were padded. With my calves essentially affixed to my thighs, and my hands useless, I couldn’t stand if I wanted to.
“How do you feel girl?” Paul asked as he studied me.
I barked twice and then shook my head, my long, dark hair flying about.
“Good girl! One bark for yes, two for no.” He laughed. “I’m sorry I asked how you feel. That wasn’t very fair of me was it?”
He bent down and pulled out what looked like a bundle of fur. My eye widened as I realized this must be some sort of furry suit. It was a golden dark brown and I realized the color matched that of his beloved retriever from when he was a child in Michigan.
“Don’t worry!” He said in a calming tone. “You’ll love how the suit feels once it’s on.”
I started to try to move away. We hadn’t discussed any of this and I was starting to feel overwhelmed. Still, I let him dress me, but I kept shaking my head as he did so. He gave me a quick, sharp spank and I calmed down. But this only lasted until after he finished with the suit and brought out a pink, oddly shaped device.
He called it an anal collar. I was breathing heavily now as he twisted and using ample amounts of KY jelly, he pushed it into place in my tight anal passage. “It gets locked in place,” Paul explained almost proudly. “A ring on the suit slips over the external flange and helps to keep the suit stretched tightly around your bottom passage.
He smiled like he knew I’d be pleased. “I’ve designed a working tail. It’ll respond when you clench your anal muscles. You’ll only wear the tail inside of course.”
“No, no,” I whined as he explained how the locked in place anal flange worked. I felt a low shock from the collar and fell quiet. It wasn’t pleasant as he continued positioning the anal device, stretching my anal muscles and the walls out.
“Grr,” I growled. He ignored me, as he began to adjust the suit. The costume fit tight and covered my hind legs with my feet lying next to the outside of my thighs. The material of the costume ended at my pussy.
When he stopped, my anal passage ached, and I felt ridiculous and utterly helpless. “This is hard, I know girl. I had the costume made to your perfect measurements.”
It was zipped shut and there was no way I’d be able to remove the costume myself. The way it was designed, my collar and chest were covered. My arms were fitted with my hands having been forced into cute little paws. He patted my ass, which felt stretched open.
He smiled and reached down and stroked my slightly gaping pussy. “What a pretty puppy,” he said. This both turned me on and made me feel calmer, more trusting. I realized the design of the suit had pulled my labia slightly apart, so I was readily visible. There were two holes in the suit, which allowed my nipples and part of my breasts to protrude.
He gave my nipples a tug and made some adjustment so that my areolas were fully visible. Truthfully, I looked obscene. Slowly, he zipped the suit fully closed to just below my chin. When he brought out the mask, I again shook my head, shivering in shock.
“It’s okay,” he said again. By this point, I was pretty sure he didn’t know what the word okay meant. He pulled on surgical gloves and began to squeeze a non-biogenic, allergen free glue onto the facial mask. Then he smeared it onto my face. I glared as he left and fitted the floppy facial mask to my face.
My transformation continued as he slowly made me into a 112-pound bitch with soft rubber teeth over my actual teeth, so I couldn’t bite him if I tried. In fact, I did try when he forced his cock into my mouth and down my throat.
As time passed, I got used to my new life. I even dreaded those intermittent days when he’d remove a portion of the costume and then replace it.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/a9hqtr/fm_pet_transformation_lowsex_consensual_to
Strangely turned on by this….