“Think I’d like white tulips,” Sam mused, tapping away at their laptop. “Or, there’s this one flower called beebrush? It looks kinda wispy - little flowers, very unobtrusive. I like them but I’m not sure how good they’d be as centrepieces, I’m putting them down as a second choice...”

“Mm-hmm,” Vicky mumbled.

“They both symbolise forgiveness and reconciliation, apparently. At least according to Google. I thought it’d be kinda nice to have something like that, because, y’know, we hated each others’ guts when we met. Maybe the flowers could be kind of an unspoken little nod to that - like, look how far we’ve come...”

Vicky sighed softly. “I like that,” she tried to say, but it came out more like, “Er lurk thud.” She heard her Master chuckle fondly, and felt them press down just a tiny bit harder on her cheek, as if to reward her. They kept talking, thinking out loud as they continued to single-handedly plan the ceremony. She listened as best she could, but much of it faded into a background buzz, so absorbed was she in the feeling of her face being squished out of shape by Sam’s sole.

She could barely remember her earlier agitation - it had all been swept away, kicked aside by her fiancé’s fascinating foot. She was so grateful to them for knowing exactly how she was feeling, and what she needed. They knew her so well.

She couldn’t fucking wait to marry them, and spend the rest of her days as their docile, subservient housewife - on top of being their docile, subservient housepet. It felt like they’d been engaged for at least two years already, and they were eager for Sam to make an honest(-ish) woman of her.

But moving ahead with the wedding was a double-edged sword, as she’d already discovered. There was just so much to plan. She’d known it would be daunting, but she hadn’t been prepared for just how much minutiae had to at least be addressed, if not resolved, even with the ceremony over a year away. It’d already taken a long time to find and book a decent venue, but now that they had, they were spending their day together organising as many other details as they could.

They’d spent almost an hour simply trying to figure out the seating arrangements. Though Victoria had no relatives aside from her brother (and her aunt, against whom they had a restraining order), Sam’s family was almost enough to fill the venue by themselves, and in addition to that the brides had plenty of friends they wanted in attendance. There were rivals and ex-couples who couldn’t be seated together, and figuring out where to put them so they were less likely to interact was a major headache. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust these people to be civil, but they wanted everyone to be comfortable on their special day. Plus, in a building full of accomplished martial artists with short fuses, it was best to stay on the safe side.

Then there was planning the colour scheme for their bridal party, made more complex by their conscious decision to each have a mix of groomsmen and bridesmaids, each of whom could wear suits or dresses as they wished. There was picking gifts to go on their registry, choosing between a band or a DJ, booking a caterer, booking a photographer... So many options, so many choices - it was too much for Victoria’s poor brain to handle. She was bravely soldiering on, knowing how important this was to them both, but Sam must have been able to tell how stressed she was.

She was in the midst of a long, indecisive sentence when their foot suddenly hovered into her sightline. Taken by surprise, she kept rambling for a few more words before becoming transfixed by their delicate little toes as they wiggled before her eyes. “Wh-wha - what are you doing, Sam?” she frowned. “This is - we need to get this done, why’re you -”

“Speak!”

“Arf!” she exclaimed immediately. With a flustered smile, her eyes still following the foot slowly waving back and forth, she continued, “I - we can’t right now, we need to -”

“Speak!”

“Ruff, ruff!”

And so it went - every time she mustered up a feeble protest, Sam interrupted her by making her bark, each one a beam of sunlight cutting through the dark cloud in her brain. Before she knew it, the anxious bride-to-be was transformed into a playful puppy, kneeling on the sofa with her butt on her back legs and her ramrod-straight front legs holding up her torso, her gaze locked onto her Master’s mesmerising sole, her tongue hanging out as she panted eagerly. In this state, she could barely remember being so stressed a few minutes ago, let alone what she’d been stressed about.

Inevitably, she was soon flat on her back on her pet bed, delightedly rubbing her face against every inch of Sam’s sole. After indulging her nuzzling for a while, they turned her head to one side and pressed their foot into her cheek, while at the same time planting their other heel on one of her boobs, and she happily went limp and let them use her as a footrest. With their partner pacified, they resumed planning, speaking their ideas aloud so that Vicky could voice an opinion if she wanted to, once her mind had pieced itself back together a bit.

Calm as she was now compared to earlier, she was also pretty damn horny. It was only natural, given how easily her Master had quelled her frayed nerves and silenced her scrambled brain, reducing her to a dumb, docile doggo. Plus, the feminine appearance Sam had chosen for that day - rare for them since they began their journey of gender exploration, but not unheard of - was playing a part. Although Vicky couldn’t see them from her current vantage point, the images of their curly brunette hair done up in small space buns, the purple top that accentuated their cleavage, and the diaphanous sleeves that showed off their strong, slender arms, were vivid in her mind. On their lower half they wore a Campbell tartan box-pleated skirt with no underwear, showing off their toned thighs and shapely ass - not to mention their delectable cunt. Victoria had cheekily peeked up her fiancé’s skirt a few times today, before the strain of wedding planning had taken hold.

Right at that moment, the puppy girl dearly wished to pounce on that pretty pussy. She began to squirm, abruptly switching from being contentedly sprawled underfoot to being desperate for the freedom to get on all fours and shove her head up her Master’s skirt, perhaps while pawing between her own legs at the same time. But the feet on her cheek and chest were like ten-ton weights, effortlessly pinning her in place. She batted at them pathetically, her weak mind preventing her strong body from making anything more than a token struggle.

She got their attention, at least. “Oh, you wanna get up now, do you?” they chuckled. “I dunno, one minute you wanna lie down with my feet on you, the next you wanna get up again... Guess your mind’s so weak you just can’t make it up, can ya, pet?” Vicky whined piteously, her legs literally quaking at the condescension. “What d’you want, girl? You wanna get off? You wanna get me off?” She gave small whimpers of confirmation to each question.

“Aw, well I’m sorry, pet,” came her Master’s mocking voice again. “You know I’m so busy right now organising our special day, I don’t have time to indulge you. I don’t even have time for you to indulge me, it’d be too distracting right now. But I tell you what, since you’re so needy, I’ll let you get yourself off. You can even cum if you like.”

Their heel lifted off her boob, and the next second she let out a startled little yelp as she felt it press into her crotch. “There you go, my little bitch in heat, you deal with your animal urges while I keep working. Don’t you worry, Master’s taking care of everything.”

Barely pausing to process how humiliating, how degrading, it was to be expected to hump her fiancé’s foot, Vicky proceeded to do exactly that, urgently rolling her hips upwards and grinding against the hard heel. She was close to the edge in no time at all, her head managing to slip round and ram her face into their sole once again, inhaling its scent greedily as she manically masturbated against its twin.

“I sometimes think about how funny it is, that you pretended not to be like this for so long,” Sam sniggered. “That you spent all that time acting like a savage snake, a cold-hearted cobra, instead of being the placid pupper you really are. You’re so much better off now, aren’t you?”

Vicky showed her heartfelt agreement by cumming violently, her body convulsing beneath their feet, still humping their heel hard, the compulsive barks that always accompanied her orgasms stifled by their sole. Spent, she slumped back down on the pet bed and gulped air as her face was finally uncovered, faint from lack of oxygen after the sole-smothering seconds earlier. Sam shifted around on the sofa and brought their other foot across to Vicky’s face, pressing their heel against her lips, and she began to lazily lick it clean. The foot wasn’t quite as drenched as it rightly should’ve been, because she was, unusually, fully dressed, in light blue jeans and a rainbow sweater. But enough had managed to soak through the denim to give Sam’s heel at least a light coating of her juices.

“Good girl,” her Master praised her, and she shuddered, supremely satisfied.

This had been exactly what she’d needed to destress and decompress. Sam took such good care of her. She was so looking forward to being their housepetwife. She was so looking forward to taking their name. That was one decision she’d found easy to make.

“Now, I’m thinking red velvet for the cake,” they continued casually, as if nothing had happened.