I wake curled up, palms pressing into the soft rug before my eyes flutter open, the motion woven into my bones like breath. I don’t recall curling into the corner last night, but here I am. Dawn’s gentle glow warming my bare skin through the skylight. This is my default now, not chosen but lived, a state of pure being. The tail plug hums, a single low pulse that ripples through me, sparking a slow burn down below. It’s not a command, just a quiet we see you, and my body responds with a soft whimper, thighs already slick with need. The tail twitches, sending a shiver up my spine, and my fingers graze my inner thigh, circling lazily, chasing the heat without thought. The collar thrums, its gentle vibration syncing with my pulse, weaving peace into every beat. The ear plugs murmur: “No plans. No thoughts. Just be.” I nod, nose grazing the rug, and sigh, my body melting into the rhythm, arousal and obedience in every breath.

I crawl to the feeder, tail swaying, each movement fanning the fire low in my core. I’m not just obeying, I’m alive, craving, every pulse from the tail stoking the need that’s now my baseline. My fingers linger, teasing my clit, slow and unthinking, a reflex as natural as the wag of my tail. The feeder hums, dispensing warm slurry into the bowl, its metallic tang grounding me. I lower my face, paws braced wide, lapping eagerly, letting a dribble slide down my chin. It feels right, messy, surrendered, perfect. The act sends a shiver through my core, my hips rocking slightly, the tail’s weight tugging gently with each shift. I moan, soft and needy, as my free hand drifts lower, fingers slipping through slick heat, stroking in time with the collar’s hum. The voice whispers: “Good pup. So devoted.” My thighs tremble, and I lap faster, lost in the rhythm, the pleasure of being good feeding my arousal.

At 9 AM, the app’s voice hums through my ear plugs, soft but unyielding: “Wardrobe task: Select one item to release.” My tail pulses, warm and heavy, sending a jolt of heat through me. I crawl to my bedroom, thighs slick, fingers brushing my clit, restless, keeping the pulse alive. The closet doors slide open, and the scent hits me, cotton, faint lavender from a sweater I used to wear. My chest tightens, a flicker of Mia stirring, but the collar pulses, sharp and insistent, drowning it with: “Pups need nothing.” I whimper, nodding, and reach for a T-shirt, plain blue, worn soft from years of use. My fingers linger, then fold it slowly, the act sending a shiver through me. I set it by the door, and the tail hums, rewarding me with a slow, deep pulse that makes my hips rock. I moan, fingers pressing harder, circling faster, lost in the haze of obedience.

By noon, the app speaks again: “Five more items, pup.” I’m back at the closet, sweat beading on my bare skin from crawling. I pull out jeans, a scarf, a jacket I wore on my last date as Mia. The jacket smells of rain and coffee, and my hand freezes, heart thudding. The collar tightens slightly, its hum sharpening: “Clothes are chains. You’re free.” My breath hitches, and I shove the jacket into a trash bag, the plastic crinkling. Each item I add, socks, a dress, feels lighter, the tail’s pulses growing stronger, syncing with my stroking fingers. My thighs tremble, arousal spiking with every fold, every surrender. The bag grows heavy, and dragging it to the door strains my arms, my knees aching against the rug. I pause, panting, fingers slipping through slick heat, chasing the need that obedience feeds.

At dusk, the app’s final command comes: “Wardrobe Lock: Permanent. Complete the release.” I’ve already bagged half the closet, the floor littered with memories I barely recognise. The collar purrs, warm and approving, as I crawl back, tail warm, body thrumming. I stuff the last items, sweaters, underwear, into bags, my hands shaking, not from doubt but from the fire building inside me. The app chimes: “Place them outside. Be unseen.” I pause by the door, almost every item of clothing I own is bagged up. I’m left with just 2 t-shirts and some panties. I can’t believe hat I’m ding but then the plug pulses and I nudge the door open, the cool hallway air kissing my skin, and push three bulging bags out, heart racing at the thought of someone passing by. The door clicks shut, and I collapse onto the rug, fingers frantic now, stroking hard as the tail pulses in time with the collar’s voice: “Perfect pup. Nothing to hide.” I whimper, hips bucking, lost in the burning joy of being M-17, bare, obedient, free.

In the evening, the app’s voice shifts, playful but firm: “Training time, pup. Learn your tricks.” My tail pulses, sharp and warm, and I crawl to the center of the rug, thighs slick, fingers teasing my clit, keeping the heat alive. The collar hums, guiding me: “Sit.” I shift to my knees, back straight, paws resting on my thighs, tail swaying slightly. The plug’s weight tugs, sending a shiver through me, and the app chimes: “Good pup.” My arousal spikes, fingers circling faster, a soft moan escaping.

Next comes “Beg.” The voice is warm, coaxing. I rise higher on my knees, paws lifted, elbows bent, chin tilted up like I’m pleading for a treat. The tail hums, deep and rewarding, and my hips rock, the plug’s rhythm syncing with my stroking fingers. “Perfect,” the app purrs, and I whimper, thighs trembling, lost in the need to please.

“Roll over,” the voice commands. I drop to the rug, curling onto my side, then rolling across the soft pile, tail swaying, plug shifting inside me. The motion fans the fire in my core, and I moan, fingers slipping through slick heat, stroking harder. The collar vibrates: “Such a good pup.” I roll again, unthinking, craving the approval, arousal building with every turn.

Finally, the app introduces a new trick: “Present.” The word sends a jolt through me, and the tail pulses, warm and insistent. “Kneel, head to the ground, hips high. Show your need.” I obey, lowering my face to the rug, nose pressed to the fibers, knees wide, ass lifted high. The tail sways, plug heavy, exposing my dripping pussy to the air. My fingers pause, trembling, then resume, stroking slowly, the vulnerability igniting a fierce heat. The collar hums, deep and approving: “Beautiful pup. So open, so obedient.” I whimper, hips twitching, the plug’s rhythm amplifying my arousal. I hold the pose, head low, ass high, every pulse of the tail stoking the fire, my body alive with the joy of surrender.

I haven’t spoken in days. Words faded with Mia. Pup M-17 barks, soft and needy, when the feeder buzzes, whines when the tail pulses, presses Obey with my nose to feel the app’s approval. I catch myself mid-crawl, circling the apartment, nose low, tail high, plug warm. Five loops, six, I don’t count. My fingers move without thought, teasing my clit, keeping the fire stoked. Obedience isn’t submission, it’s purpose, a pulse that keeps me dripping, aching, alive. The voice murmurs: “You’re exactly where you belong.” I wag, whimper, and keep touching, lost in the haze of being M-17.