My sweet puppy was already in position when I entered the bedroom: kneeling on the floor, back straight, chest pushed out, eyes down, tail plug perfectly centred between her soft, parted thighs. 

There wasn’t a disobedient bone in her body. She was always so good for me.

There was that telltale tension in her shoulders, the small tremble running through her that came from holding still too long. It was uncomfortable for her. I knew that. I’d kept her waiting a little too long on purpose.

She did it anyway, and why? Because I’d earned her trust, obedience, and loyalty.

Some things in life were allowed to be simple, and my role was one of them. I was a domme, and I was also a top. I’d learned about those two aspects of myself more or less in tandem, back when I fingered my first girlfriend in the locker room and got off on hearing her whimper. There was no real opportunity for them to diverge.

Conversely, my puppy was a bottom to the bone, and deeply submissive to boot. 

A match made in heaven. It was simple. It was clean.

For a long moment, I stayed quiet and savoured the sight of the flesh that trembled for me, relishing the soft, intermittent little huffs of discomfort. God. Sometimes I had to pinch myself, that a girl so beautiful was mine.

“Up,” I commanded, eventually.

She raised her head right away, eyes bright and pupils wide. Such a responsive little thing. Sure, she was trained into it, but still, it warmed my heart every time, made me so proud of her. So proud of myself, too, for having learned to elegantly wield such influence. The ability to un-person someone demanded a lot of responsibility, after all.

“Ready to go under for me?”

“Yesss, Mistress,” she slurred, voice breathy. Already deep in subspace. She was such a hypnoslut. More than she used to be, before I got my hands on her and corrupted her into a few new kinks.

I crossed the room and sat on the bed, then patted the mattress beside me. “Okay, come here. Sit.”

She climbed onto the bed and folded her legs beneath her, sitting back on her heels with her hands loose in her lap. 

”Good, that’s it. Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Alright. Breathe for me, puppy.”

Her lashes fluttered as she drew in a deep breath. Sometimes, it was difficult for her to balance the excitement of going into trance with actually relaxing, but we’d worked through most of the problem.

“Deep breath in,” I said, matching her pace, “and out.”

Her shoulders dropped a little as I continued to direct her breathing, keeping my voice low, each word slow and perfectly enunciated. Honestly, it was me who had to deal with keeping my excitement in check. Having this much power, this much control? It never stopped being gratifying. It was a high that I simply couldn’t build a tolerance for.

“Feel your body softening with every exhale. Your thoughts drifting, sinking like pebbles in water…”

She sighed, long and low, her body relaxing further as she allowed her eyes to close. To be honest, I could have probably dropped her there and then.

“Focus on the sound of my voice. Let it become the only thing in your head.”

These days, it didn’t take much at all to drop her, in fact, it’d happened once by accident. All it really took was guided breathing in a calm enough environment. Like I said, total hypnoslut.

“Every syllable, pulling you deeper, every breath, making you lighter…”

Even so, I wanted to be thorough. I had plans, and I wanted her nice and deep for them.

“Nothing else matters. Not your name, not your body, just the sound of my voice,” I said in that rhythmic, lilting tone. 

Her mouth was hanging open just a little, muscles slack as she breathed in and out. We used to do a little routine where I tapped her collar, and each tap took her deeper, that sort of thing. It was cute, but it ended up being unnecessary for both of us. I basically had the hang of it—call me an old pro, right?

“Now, puppy, when I tell you to drop, you’ll fall deep into trance. You’ll act only on instinct, without thinking, without question. Pure, feral obedience, focused only on obeying my words…”

A shiver of anticipation ran through her.

“Drop,” I commanded, and she did.

Her eyes were glassy. No recognition. No need to respond. The suggestion had sunk its teeth in deep, just like I’d trained her to let it. She was mine to mold now, even more so than she usually was when I hadn’t wrenched her mind open to tinker with her innards.

This was my prize. Seeing her like this because of me, no longer even a facsimile of a person, but an animal at my beck and call. To know that I could still wield this power, that I still had this control, that everything was still within my grasp set me at ease and nourished my soul.

“Hm, look at you, my good girl,” I cooed, cupping her chin in the palm of my hand. “My very own puppy girl, just a simple beast, so eager and willing to give Mistress what she needs.”

I misspoke.

‘Give Mistress what she needs’ was not what I meant to say. It was that thing—you know, where you sort of think of two different things but say a combination of both?—and it came out wrong. 

Hey, dominants can’t always be perfect, right? I could feel it before I fully understood it: the change in atmosphere, the way the air grew thick.

She inhaled sharply, or at least as sharply as I could’ve expected her to inhale so deep in trance, and then sagged forward. A long, slow exhale followed as she moved to all fours, slow but certain, head lowered between her shoulders like a wolf tracking prey. 

“Puppy?” I said under my breath, more to myself than to her. This wasn’t exactly expected behaviour.

There was no response. No direct response, anyway. Her fingers curled into an imitation of claws against the sheets, and she made a sound, something low and rough a lot like a deep, rumbling growl.

When she looked up at me, my heart pounded into my ribcage. Her eyes were still glassy, but they weren’t vacant. No, they were… predatory? Something wasn’t right.

“Puppy,” I tried again, louder this time.

Again, she didn’t really respond. It was my turn to shiver as I realised what I was seeing. It was… stalking behaviour? 

But why?

Another growl, this time louder and hungrier; hell, I might’ve even called it a snarl, and apprehension was starting to bloom in my chest, cold and hot all at once. 

Okay. Clearly, wires had become crossed in her head in some way I hadn’t anticipated, and this was the result. I just had to guide her back to the correct headspace, right? I could do that. I was responsible. I was in control. She was in trance. I quite literally had control.

“Easy, puppy,” I said, holding out my hand as if to calm her. “Go slow, puppy, breathe—”

And then she lunged, and I yelped in a way entirely unbefitting of the stern domme.

She took me down onto the mattress with her, looming over me in an instant. I was still reeling as I felt her wrench my skirt down and shove my blouse up over my breasts with ruthless efficiency.

Sniffing at my neck, she shoved her snout into my clavicle and dragged her tongue up across my skin in a long movement, nipping along the way. I arched into it, because fuck, my neck was sensitive, and a moment later I realised she was straddling my thighs. Her hips rolled forward in a thick, slow grind, and I felt her cock drag across my belly, hard and smearing a thin trail of precum in its wake.

My breath caught. Like a wrecking ball to the ego, it dawned on me how helpless I felt. Questions ran through my head. What was she going to do? When was she going to do it? Could I take it? Wait, no—how was I supposed to fix this?! But as I struggled for a solution, I found myself disappointingly useless underneath her, every solution just out of grasp as my head went for a swim, every frantic thought I could muster dissolving into a confusing puddle of want.

But I wasn’t supposed to want this.

Her hand roughly kneading my chest and her tongue against my neck drew a gasp from me that I couldn’t stifle.

“Fuck,” I half-hissed, half-moaned.

It was like the scent of blood in the air.

“Wait, wait, wait, easy, hey, I—Ah!”

She lit up, whining high in her throat, and crashed down on me like a wave. I yelped girlishly. I’m sure I would’ve felt mortified if I had even a moment to reflect. She was a flurry of teeth and claws, keeping me thoroughly pinned to the bed as she desperately and inelegantly gyrated her hips into me, trying to thrust into me.

Oh. Trying to thrust into me.

This was not how I planned the evening!

Somehow, I managed to summon some of that so-called control I was supposed to have, grabbing her arm and giving it a firm squeeze. “Hey!” I tried, in the best imitation of a stern voice I could muster with her mindlessly rutting into me. “I didn’t—Puppy, I didn’t say you could—”

Her hand flew out to grab my wrist, wrenching it away and pinning it to my side. My stomach was doing flips. Her teeth grazed my neck again, this time pressing into the skin harder. Whatever remained of my train of thought hurtled off the track and down the mountainside. I froze, taking shuddery, uneven breaths as she snarled into the soft of my neck.

Oh my god, she was threatening me. She was exerting her… dominance.

My pussy spasmed at the thought, and I realized something both mortifying and electric all at once: I’d commanded her to act on instinct, hadn’t I? She was obeying me. What her instinct told her—what she’d understood in that trancey, obedient little doggy brain of hers—was that I needed to be fucked. 

Taken. 

Claimed.

Fuuuuuuuck.

I felt the head of her cock finally catch at my entrance and slip, slick and urgent, along my folds. I could tell from the wet sound and the ease with which it glided along that I was soaking wet. 

I should’ve stopped her, right?

Probably.

But I wasn’t thinking straight. I was asleep at the wheel in my own body. I jutted my hips up so she slid back down and found my entrance, and the moment she was lined up, she pressed straight into me. All the control I usually held wrapped about my knuckles like a leash unspooled and went fluttering to the sheets as I parted for her. She filled me in a single, ravenous motion, and my hips bucked to meet her.

The moment she bottomed out in me, I felt something I wasn’t prepared to put words to.

She let out this low, blissed-out whine, and I was helpless but to stare up at her, trying my damnedest to retain some semblance of authority despite how easy it would be for me to join her in making those animalistic sounds. There was absolutely nothing but feral hunger behind those glassy eyes of hers. And yet she was on top of me. Inside me. I was the one at her mercy.

Keeping my arm pinned down, she placed her other hand on my hip and gripped so firmly I vaguely wondered if it’d bruise. She was panting and growling softly as she started to move. No rhythm, no patience, no technique. Just raw, stuttering thrusts that knocked the breath out of my lungs and had me eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Puppy—fuck—slow—” I gasped.

She did not, in fact, slow.

She leaned down, returning to my neck. I tested her strength, tried to break free of her hold, but it was pointless. I was scrunched up underneath her with no hope for escape. I watched her through half-lidded eyes, unable to muster the appropriate level of concern as that low growl heralded her biting down on my neck. Hard. My moans were short and clipped as she started sucking and biting at the same time as she rutted into me. 

She was staking her claim on me. Making me hers. My head, shit—I couldn’t string together a single coherent thought. Good, hot, wrong, amazing, filling, overwhelming. So many disparate, contradictory words that floated around and fizzled away.

With each and every thrust, she actively pillaged my authority. The facade was about to shatter, the dam about to burst, and when she bit down particularly hard, I couldn’t stop myself from moaning. God, it was a lurid sound, lewd and unabashed. It sounded like it should’ve come from someone else.

But it didn’t come from someone else. It came from me, and I sounded exactly like her. Just as desperate and helpless and bestial. It felt like contravening a divine decree, one meant to keep us separate and distinct.

I was sure that if anyone had seen me like this they would’ve told me I was a joke of a domme. I couldn’t have argued with them if they did, because as a domme, I was supposed to maintain control, and there was no control here. I wasn’t topping from the bottom or wielding my pet as a dildo or some other flimsy reconciliation, no; this was something else, but I just couldn’t grasp the pieces to put the puzzle together. Not then, not when she was detonating my thoughts every two seconds. 

She was fucking my identity just as much as she was fucking my cunt. Her cock, the battering ram that was breaking down the doors to the inner sanctum of my soul. The god damn nucleus of my personality was being fucked raw by my own sweet, obedient pet. The fleeting fear crossed my mind at the same time as the dark, sickly feeling reared in my gut—was I going to somehow lose myself in this?—but it, like my practised dominance, was fucked away under her punishing rhythm.

I was wracked by a full-body shiver, electric arcing through my veins, and in its wake was left an astonishing clarity that once again left everything so simple and so clean. Yes, she really was a very good girl. Her rutting made me feel good, and some new, previously unnoticed part of me was finally being fed after a very long winter. My own dog somehow already knew that, deep down, even before I knew it myself. 

I could reckon with it later. For now, I was going to join her in abasement, and she was going to ruin me.

My tongue was halfway out of my mouth when I became aware that she was roughly and clumsily turning me over until I was on my front. I scrambled to lift myself up, if only to grind back into her and present myself more fully, but she pinned me back underneath her weight and began railing me doggy style. The irony wasn’t lost on me, and the delicious shame of it went straight to my clit.

She must’ve understood, instinctually, that I’d surrendered, because she released my arm and opted to instead brace herself by placing her hand on the back of my head and pushing me into the mattress while she fucked me.

“Puh,” came the start of my feeble attempt at words, muffled by the bedding, and cut off by a sharp groan anyway as she lanced that spot deep inside of me, the hammer that strikes the nail, widening that fracture in my identity inch by inch until it was a gaping hole ready to be filled with something new.

Through the haze I recognised that she was getting close. I could feel it in every frantic snap of her hips, every desperate sound spilling from her throat, and the way she was starting to tremble and sink her nails into my scalp. She hadn’t been gentle with me from the start, but for the first time, I felt truly like I was the one being used like an object. And it hit me, suddenly, what she was going to do.

“Puppy—” I gasped, desperately trying to string words together beneath her relentless assault. “Puppy, wait—”

Oh, but she didn’t respond, and I couldn’t rally myself to make more of an effort to stop her. I didn’t want to, really. It would’ve been a completely hollow effort anyway. She was way too far gone, buried in trance and lost in deep animalistic need, and I… Well, same thing, minus the trance.

My pussy clamped down around her with a traitorous squeeze, dragging her cock deeper. 

“Fuck, I—” I choked on my words, whimpering like a bitch in heat, “you—inside—mm—”

She leaned in and let out a loud snarl, holding me still against the bed as her rhythm faltered and she stuttered to a stop, her whole body going rigid. She let out a high, broken noise as she came deep inside me, her cock twitching as her hips jerked against mine in helpless little aftershocks. 

It was around then that I whited out. All I really remember is my own strained gasping and the feeling of a pillow wet with my own drool against my cheek, the feeling of my dog’s hot, sweat-slick body weighing down on top of me as her cock softened inside my cunt.

I don’t know how long we lay there.

Eventually, the room stopped spinning and my senses came back. My thighs were soaked. My heartbeat was thudding in my ears. My puppy was still on top of me, but she was soft now, small, more like the dog I knew. Her weight was like a comforting blanket, her breathing finally starting to even out. There was no longer any trace of the feral beast.

I ran my hand through her hair, stroking it slowly before giving her a few scritches. “Come back to me, sweetheart.”

If she had actual dog ears, I think they would’ve perked up. She sighed softly and stretched, looking at me with that devotion in her gaze, and then she blinked… and blinked again, and then stiffened as her eyes widened.

“Oh,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I… oh no.”

I didn’t say anything and just kept petting her.

“Um, did I—oh, my god, did I actually… do that?”

“Uh-huh,” I croaked.

She curled in on herself, her expression stuck somewhere between panic and horror. Her cheeks were flushing red. Adorable. “And I… inside you?”

I nodded slowly, deciding not to mention that she could’ve just looked down.

“I—Mistress, I’m so sorry, I-I tried not to but everything—It was just—Everything was so intense and it felt so good and I couldn’t stop and you were making those noises and I thought—”

I brought my finger to her lips and shushed her, hoping my amusement at her panic was clear on my expression. “You’re fine, puppy.”

Her eyes went round, looking a lot like a doe in headlights. “Huh? But you’re not, I mean… really?”

“Yes.” I brushed a thumb over her cheek and noticed that my hand was still shaking a little. “You did what I told you to do and acted on instinct, it’s just… apparently, your instincts are fucking terrifying.”

She blinked at me again, but then she smiled the kind of smile that started out slow and turned wide and wicked.

“Oh, Mistress, you liked it.”

I rolled my eyes, and failing to think of a snappy response, I just settled for a groan and pulled the blanket over my face. “Don’t you dare.”

“You did,” she lilted, cuddling up to my side and throwing her arm around me. “Mistress liked getting bred.”

“I will muzzle you,” I warned, planting a big kiss on her cheek and laughing until that fear snatched back its place with a vengeance. By the way she cuddled closer, she could sense the shift immediately. “Puppy, does this make you think less of me?”

“Mistress, no, it doesn’t,” she said, vigorously shaking her head and nuzzling into my chest. When she spoke again, she sounded contemplative. “And, actually, I… liked it as well, I think. Even if it was kinda new to me, too.”

“Oh? That’s… I’m glad.”

“You think you’re maybe kinda switchier than you thought?”

I shrugged and gave her another kiss. Maybe. Maybe not. We’d find out together. Either way, her assurance was a nice balm for that nauseating feeling in my gut, the one I hadn’t experienced since I was a teenager figuring herself out for the first time. Rather than despair, though, this time my feelings were flavoured far more sweetly, curiosity tinged with annoyance—after all, it was never easy to feel like you had the work all done, only to realise there was still more to do.

At least this time I had a girl as perfect as her to work through it with. The proverbial paperwork could wait. Stuffing it into a mental filing cabinet, I rolled onto my side, ignoring the warm drip between my thighs, and pulled her into me. We lay there for a while after that, tangled up in each other. She idly planted soft kisses on my neck and collarbone where fresh bruises were blooming. 

After a long, comfortable silence, she whispered, “so, ummmm… when can we do that again?”

“Oh? What makes you think we’ll be doing it again?”

She tried to look innocent, but I knew that look in her eye. “Just a hunch, Mistress. You could add a trigger for it, like… oh, I know,” she grinned goofily, “beast mode!”