My Pups Diaries

To: Anyone who may find it.

From: Someone unsatisfied.

DAY ZERO

When you're in love, everything seems fine. When you see the world with rose-tinted glasses, you can't distinguish shades. And, may I add, when you have wonderful sex, you think you could always reach paradise.

And then, reality settles in.

Boredom, habit, whatever you wanna call it.

And that wonderful, blissful sparkle goes away.

Dan was the perfect, um... everything. The perfect boyfriend before, the perfect husband then. And, most importantly, the perfect sub. He could do anything your little heart desired. Bondage? Sure, why not. Wax? We got new candles once a week.

But, more than anything... he was the perfect pet.

So endearing, so wonderfully playful, and realistic.

Just watching as he put on his collar. As he'd get on all fours, slowly shedding of his humanity, as his backside swished, side to side, with his black, pointy buttplug, made me feel so powerful, and so, so aroused. He'd throw a bark in there, pant a bit, put his head on my knees to get scratchies, and, subsequently, make me ascend.

We'd spend the entire day like that, with me walking him around the house, and, during the night, in our backyard. We'd play fetch, I'd use his favorite toy, a plush rat he'd almost turn to shreds with his teeth. He'd actually bark at squirrels, if he found some, and ran after them. His muscles made it easy even on all fours. And then, after marking his territory (this was his idea, not mine), he'd get inside, and curl up on a doggy bed we put on the side, until he was sure I was asleep. He'd then crawl on the bed at my feet, just like a good doggy.

He was a good doggy. A perfect one.

Until he wasn't.

Maybe he was getting too old, maybe he was just bored, maybe... maybe he was just tired of me.

Why? Why would he be tired of me?

Six months after our marriage, he would not want the artificial paw-shaped mittens.

I get it, they'd make his hands too sore, and he couldn't type later, and his coding deadlines would be delayed...

Nine months in, he was getting more and more vocal, throwing some human words in there during our special time.

Maybe he finds barking too degrading...?

One year in, he wouldn't wear the plug... and so on. We basically ended up just having plain vanilla sex. And, after a while... I couldn't. It just doesn't do anything for me.

It was watching him be so... helpless. So dependent on me, so open to degradation. So helpless, so...

cute

.

And so I started researching. I scoured the web, went to the farthest corners of sexual knowledge, to find something that would work.

I found... well, something that wasn't exactly ethical, you could say. It may have been a bit on the overriding his will side of things, forced degradation, heck, some call it mind control...

Subliminals. And hypnosis.

And so, I got to work. I downloaded audio editing software, bought a good microphone, read papers to know exactly which frequencies would work best to get him in the right mindset, and bought a cute little black diary to document my (or better, his) progress. Mainly, because I know when this will be over there's no turning back. And I need some mileage out of this, don't I?

DAY ONE

Programmed my tiny mouse-shaped speaker with the definitive subliminal files, and put it in his office at 6am. Behind his monitor, he shouldn't see anything,,,

Oh well. If he finds it, I'll just say it's a cute little decoration for his desk. Y'know. Like the one he used to play with- I gotta stay on track. For now, nothing new.

DAY FOUR

I could've sworn this morning, when I woke up, I found hi with his hands bent like paws. Maybe it's all my imagination...? Nothing more. Does the speaker even work?

DAY SIX

Nothing new. Is it all a waste of time?.

He had already gone to bed, I was just going to, when I heard it. From the bathroom.

Water sloshing

. The door was left open.

Shall I?...

I thought.

Fuck it. That's the least pervert thing I would be doing.

I peeked in... to find Dan, recurve on the toilet.

Oh God, is he sick?

He wasn't.

He was... lapping up water. Really going at it. Even seemingly, wagging his butt...?

It's working.

DAY EIGHT

I asked him.

And even better, he accepted.

He was my pet today, finally. Two years of nothing, and he was today. I can't be happier.

I watched closely for any changes. He seemed to run faster after that squirrel. And was that a growl when we played tug-o-war? Oh well. Maybe it's just my imagination.

DAY TEN

I woke up with him still at my feet. He curled up in his sleep, his little hands bent upwards... I watched him sleep for a bit. I watched his feet pawing at the air, as if he was running. His legs, recurved, like a dog, and his ass, almost wagging. And then he started to pant. And then a little bark.

Oh GOD it's working.

DAY ELEVEN

I started putting his collar in his office. To make him more used to it. Maybe this way, he'll find it more natural when he'll have to wear it.

Permanently

. And

only

that.

We were watching a movie tonight. He fell asleep before I did. And yes. He curled up. Next to me. Paws- hands down. Feet pawing.

Good boy...

I started petting him. Scratching behind his ears. And he panted.

I continued, until he woke up.

DAY THIRTEEN

Ironically, a very lucky day. He was my pet yesterday. Again.

But this time it was different.

This time, he remained in the doggy bed. I woke up to find him, still curled up, on this big, Great Dane sized cushion.

Time for phase two.

DAY FIFTEEN

As he continues to sleep on the dog bed, I put the definitive part of my plan in motion.

I wake up at 3am, put the headphones with the hypnosis files on him, resist the overbearing urge to pet him, and go back to bed. Then, wake up at 7am to remove them. My sleep quality will get worse, but oh well.

We'll see how it goes. For now, he's getting eager and eager to play. Yesterday, I got in the bedroom and he snuck up on me, throwing me on the bed and slobbering on me. And then barking, twice. Loudly, like I never heard him before.

DAY TWENTY

He's getting more and more in the role. We're playing for longer and longer.

But the most wonderful thing happened tonight. See, we got some dry dog food we used during our play. As a prop, mainly. And tonight, I was feeling... playful, let's say. And so, when I got up to remove his headphones... I left some next to his bed.

When I woke up again, it wasn't there anymore. It was squeaky clean, almost as if...

Almost as if someone had licked the floor clean.

Wonderful.

DAY TWENTYFIVE

It's getting hot, these days. Talk about global warming? My pup seems to be responding to it.

As I slept in this morning, I woke up finding him already up and working. Wearing only his underwear. Yeah, it's that hot.

But the collar was still on from last night. He didn't remove it.

And he didn't notice he was wearing it until lunch.

And he was my pup just an hour after that.

He had worn it for almost a day.

Almost. I was almost there.

DAY THIRTYONE

I started locking the door for his office. As I predicted, he would scratch around the handle, struggling to open it. Just some behavior, carried over as he was still groggy in the morning.

But it wasn't until today that he'd given up trying.

And came to my bed.

Or better,

my feet

.

DAY THIRTYFOUR

He's been trying for the past days, but still hasn't been able to open his studio.

He hasn't noticed that the key is missing altogether.

Oh well. He'll get in there. I know.

Doggy doors are made for that specific purpose.

DAY FORTY

His morning routine, at the moment, mostly consists of getting up at 9am from his doggy bed, droggily waking up and walking to his studio door, promptly failing, getting to bed.

Today, he did all of this as usual, with the little exception that his back remained leveled to the ground and I could hear some kind of four-legged animal walking up my bed.

For the rest of the day, he maybe walked upright for half an hour or so. Until he became my pup again.

DAY FORTYSIX

Finally installed the doggy door to his studio, this night, while he was asleep in the other room. Doggy sleep must be heavy, he didn't hear anything. That, or the headphones are particularly noise canceling.

I didn't sleep. Couldn't. Couldn't miss the moment where I heard the slight flapping of plastic.

And finally it happened.

Followed by sounds of papers falling, and four legs running towards the bedroom.

He came to my feet. His toy rat in his mouth.

DAY FIFTY

He started sleeping in his doggy bed again. Until noon or so. As I pass next to him, in and out my studio, in and out the kitchen, I pet him, as the good boy he is. This seems to lead him on, making he even more of a pet. He's getting maybe 10 minutes of normal human functionality a day. For all other matters, he's just a dumb pup.

My dumb pup.

This was, apart from lunch and dinner.

Today he was especially pampered, pet for hours, called a good boy in the thousands of times.

And then, when I left, he continued sleeping, and then followed me in the kitchen.

Two bowls, with his name engraved on it. One with water, the other with dry food.

He didn't even question. He started munching.

I reached down and got him some hard hand. He took it out of my hand, licking it.

He is a good boy.

DAY FIFTYTHREE

Today, I went in his studio. Turned his computer on, and checked his last deadlines.

He didn't hand in code. More like, pseudocode. More like, he randomly tapped on his keyboard, throwing him some words like "doggy" and "master" and so on.

I was so intrigued by this, I didn't hear any tapping, or even any panting, as I felt something lowering on my lap.

My gaze met his.

I was honestly so surprised, I thought that my eyes would betray me. That he'd snap, and go on, and call me out on this whole fucked up situation.

But he didn't.

He barked.

No intelligent sparkle in his eyes.

His mind, a doggy one.

At that point, I understood he'd never walk upright again. He'd never speak in human words again, or think human thoughts again. He'd just be a pup.

My pup

.

I pet him, scratched behind the ears.

Good boy

.

The tag, glistening in the morning light, reflected on my face.

Dan. My Good Boy.

I clipped his leash, leading him into the backyard, his legs tapping softly on the floor.

Cody stopped writing, the diary nearing its last pages. Life was going great. Late night television wasn't great, but oh well. The warmth of their partner sleeping next to them was everything they could hope for. Well, more

on

them that next to them. They started petting him, his expression becoming more and more seraphic as he started to pant.

They got a treat out of the bag next to their feet, and hold it over the tip of his nose. His dumb doggy eyes opened slightly as he sniffed it curiously, and, as his face scrunched up, he licked out of their hand.

He was a good boy.

Their good boy.

And maybe

, they thought, watching his ass swing from side to side,

I'll give you a tail to wag.