Matty Identifies As...

This is part 3 of a multi-part series. It is intended to proceed sequentially.

I got permission to write in the Human Service Animal universe from the OG author LoyalHound and some really lovely feedback!

Included are themes of puppy play, bondage, slavery, TPE, control, submission, domination, and possibly a little more.

Meeting the Doctor

It had felt weird having Quentin jiggle the leash to signal me to move. It felt weirder walking

out

of the same office we had held hands walking

into

, but now guided by a leash. No one in reception batted an eyelash though: Human Service Animals were after all the specialty of this vet. I even got a friendly wave and a smile from another service animal in training: a tall red headed man, whose leash was held by an older woman with a cane.

There was a curious moment when Quentin had mistaken where we had parked the car: he tried to walk one way, and I pulled him the other... I tried to tell him 'This way!' before I remembered I had the muzzle on. All that came out was a mumbled grunt.

"What's that Matty?" Quentin asked puzzled, concerned. "

Viens-là

, come." He pulled the leash towards where he had been headed.

Groaning louder I leaned back on my heels, "Nnhhnn!"

Seeing our car over my shoulder, realizing he had been trying to go the wrong way, Quentin blushed and hugged me as he said, "I guess we both have a lot to get used to."

[...]

The rest of the trip to Quentin's doctor's office was uneventful, if quiet.

Walking into the doctor's reception, we got more surprised looks than at the vet's office, but the receptionist kept her cool. She even asked Quentin if his animal needed the relief area. I shook my head, mostly in embarrassed terror. Declining aloud on my behalf, Quentin took a seat in the waiting room, bringing me with him. I sat next to him and held one of his hands with one of my own. A few minutes later, I could tell he was uncomfortable.

I turned my face to Quentin, trying to ask my question with my eyebrows.

'What's wrong?'

"

J'suppo

--I never like doctor visits, they make me, you know,

nerveux

." He admitted as he squeezed my hand tight. I'd had no idea: I knew he went to the doctor regularly to manage some chronic conditions, but I had no idea the impact it had on him. His face was taught, there were beads of sweat on his forehead, and the lines of his face seemed to be pulled tight. It me hurt to see my love like that.

My eyes melting with pity, I tenderly stroked his hairline and leaned into him hard. I was using my body contact to try to tell him physically how much I was there for him emotionally. My head tight to him, I could hear his heartrate slow slightly as we cuddled.

By the time his name was called, Quentin almost looked like his regular self. My leash jingled slightly as he led me down the corridor to the exam room following the nurse. Entering the room, there was only room for the doctor to sit in a chair and for the patient to sit on the exam table. The nurse asked Quentin if he needed his animal to stay with him, or if he preferred she could tie me up outside. I didn't have the time to be mortified by the suggestion before Quentin clamped a hand on my shoulder and said firmly, simply "He's staying with me."

The nurse nodded politely and got a foam rubber square from a cupboard and put it on the ground next to the exam table. "Your animal can kneel here if he gets tired, the doctor will be right with you!" she quietly let herself out of the room.

I had never attended one of Quentin's medical appointments before. Quentin had access to a different doctor through the veteran's benefits package: I had waited in reception once, but other than that I'd left Quentin's medical care to Quentin. This time, I expected to be sat in the waiting room again. I was frankly unprepared for the kneeling pad at the food of the exam table.

The veteran's medical association was fully supportive of the HSA program and had insisted their facilities were properly equipped after the program was inaugurated. As such, each exam room had a cupboard containing a square of soft padding and a water bowl, presently at the base of the exam table, there was even a rope cleat for a leash at the side of the exam table.

Quentin didn't tie off the leash, but he didn't let go either. His clutch on the leash was almost white-knuckle. After Quentin had sat himself on the padded exam table there was nowhere else for me to go. It was either stand by his side, or kneel on the mat. Not knowing how long it would be, I opted to kneel on the mat.

I felt weird looking up at a doctor's office from the floor, the details of the tile coming into sharp focus. I probably hadn't seen this angle of a grown-up doctor's office since I went with my mom when I was 8. There was a calendar on the wall, from my angle it was hard to read the curved page, but the snowy owl picture was beautifully detailed. Pausing on that for a moment, my eyes eventually turned back to my love.

Quentin was shifted noticeably in his seat, the anxiety I had seen in the waiting room clearing returning. Not knowing what else to do, I leaned forward from my kneeling position and wrapped my arms around one of Quentin's dangling legs and rested my head against his knee. With the padded muzzle on I could say much of anything, so I just hummed what I hoped was a soothing "Mmmmmmm."

The effect was slow, but instant. I could feel my love relax as a creeping wave slowly swept up his leg radiating out from my touch. I could feel his blood flow increase as his leg warmed. I didn't even notice his hand upon my head until Quentin started stroking me.

When I heard the doorknob jiggle, I was torn.

I wanted to keep steadying Quentin, but it felt somehow too intimate to do this in front of the doctor. I started to loosen my grip and slink back when Quentin's grip on my head became suddenly firm. "Please

mon amour

,

stay

--" he said in an imperious tone before he caught himself "um,

please

stay." I could tell he was embarrassed by the way he'd just tried to command me, but I was too worried about him to care in the moment. I just nodded and hugged his leg again.

Meanwhile, the doctor had already entered and caught the tail end of our interaction as he looked up from his paperwork.

"It's OK Matty, your vet actually phoned ahead to make sure we were prepared for Quentin's appointments. We use an integrated care team approach here, so don't be shy: you're part of his care team now too! Welcome aboard." The doctor leaned down and held his hand out for me to shake.

I tentatively extended my hand to shake his in turn, instead he reached past my hand and grabbed my wrist to shake instead, as you might with a dog. "Good boy,

stay

," he added as he stood up, "there's water there if you need it, just tap your muzzle and Quentin will take it off if you get thirsty." Satisfied, he turned a warm but professional grin to Quentin.

"Quentin!" he boomed "You seem more relaxed today already. I'm very excited you've finally decided to take my advice and try availing yourself of a service animal." I looked around at each of them in surprise. "Of course, I hadn't quite imagined you selecting a

Human

Service Animal when I started pitching the idea ten years ago, but this institute is fully supportive of the program."

Quentin blushed as he petted me, then turned to my face. "My love, I never thought--this wasn't a plan."

"No! Not a plan Matty, but a welcome circumstance. Now, Quentin, let's go over your latest test results..." as the doctor began the consultation, my eyes went wide as I clutched Quentin closer.

I had had no idea the impacts his military service had had on him. The uncertainty he faced from the interactions of countless battlefield medications, nerve agents, artillery smoke, and the weird shrapnel in his thigh was humbling. It all made a medical cocktail I had never imagined. I'd always wondered about the scar on his leg, but I figured he would tell me when he was ready--I guess now he was finally ready.

I was brought fully up to speed on all of Quentin's medications and conditions as the doctor clearly explained everything--even Quentin's refill prescriptions--to the pair of us in detail. Throughout the appointment, he had mostly spoken directly to Quentin, but he finally turned directly to me again.

"Matty, it's part of your job to help make sure Quentin is taking his medications, and to watch for interactions. You'll also need to learn the signs of one of his panic attacks," I nodded, having seen one up-close already, "and be on the lookout for one of his rare seizures."

I pitched my head to the side.

'Seizures?'

"Yes Matty, they're rare, but he can get them, you'll need to get help right away if it does!" he emphasized his last point by tapping his smartwatch metaphorically. "Right away!" I nodded. "Good.

"Now, let me see your collar here..." the doctor fingered my collar as I extended my neck to him, "yeah, this has got

your

info on here," he ruffled my hair, "and his contact info, but we should tack Quentin's critical medical details on here too..." the doctor trailed off as he looked into a folder blazoned with Quentin's name and service number. Pulling a white speckled tag out, I realized it had a QR code in the centre. It was shaped like a doggie paw and had a silver metal ring at the base.

"The paramedics know to scan these," explained the doctor as he threaded the tag next to my service tag, a small click indicating the split-ring had snapped shut again. "And these new codes just link straight to your details on our servers so it's always up to date!" smiled the doctor to Quentin. I stared off into space for a moment: now even my dog tags were about Quentin's care.

Lost to my thoughts for a moment I hadn't really been paying attention to what the humans were saying when I felt Quentin start to loosen the muzzle. Looking around confused, the doctor repeated to me "I

said

, Matty: is there anything you think you should tell me about Quentin's health? We'll be asking you this question from now on as an observer of Quentin's state."

We had only just begun our service relationship that day! It was a big shift from "boyfriend." I hadn't realized before then I was supposed to be tracking my partners health--was I bad at being a boyfriend too?

I shook my head silently and was rewarded with a smile and a "Good boy!" from the doctor. With my muzzle still off, the doctor gestured at the water bowl. "There, if you need it, but I suggest you may as well!"

Shrugging, I did feel a little thirsty, I slunk off of Quentin's leg slightly. Keeping part of my weight pressed against him, I put my hands on the floor and leaned over to the bowl. I hadn't realized the show my bottom was putting on for Quentin and the doctor until the doctor cleared his throat: "it's a good thing the harnesses say not to pet them, because otherwise that little wagging behind might be too cute to resist!"

I could almost hear the wink as the doctor delivered his joke to Quentin. I recognized it for what it was. It's not that the doctor didn't

mean

the joke, it's that the doctor knew full-well how he made Quentin feel and would say almost

anything

to relax the man, even if it's a slightly rude joke. I smiled as I took some more slurps,

'Well,

let

them enjoy the show... It's kind of fun like this.'

Finished with my water I knelt back up and looked at Quentin. Petting me twice, Quentin turned to the doctor and asked "So, are we basically done here Doc?"

Nodding and holding out a plastic sample cup the doctor replied, "Yup, same as always. We'll see you in a month. Pee in the cup on the way out and hand it to the nurse when you schedule your follow-up."

Quentin took the cup without hesitation, before he realized that between the leash, the muzzle, and the cup, he had run out of hands. Blushing he apologized to the doctor, "Sorry, just a moment..." Quentin quickly put the cup next to him, slipped the leash onto the cleat, slipped the muzzle back on me and cinched it snug before standing to shake the doctor's hand as he left. "See you next month."

Picking up the sample cup, and grabbing my leash again, Quentin jiggled the leash. "Let's go," he instructed simply as we walked out. Stopping at the washroom to fill his sample, Quentin got flustered, clearly not knowing what to do with me. Sensing his growing vexation the desk nurse sidled up.

"It's OK Quentin, I can tie him up outside while you fill your sample, you just relax and do your business," she reached for my leash, "this one will be fine for a few minutes without you." She gestured her head at me, and I looked at Quentin pleadingly as his fingers released my leash into the nurse's hands. "It's ok dear, your human will be done in a moment," the nurse said cheerfully.

I was nervous as she led me past the waiting room outside the clinic, and mortified when she tied my leash to a hitching post in a small astroturfed area complete with white picket fence and fire hydrant: the generic pet relief area. "You be a good boy and wait out here now,

stay

,

good, stayyy

, good!" she flashed me her friendliest face as she went back inside.

I didn't know where to stand or kneel: I was rooted to the spot in embarrassment. The astroturf looked recently hosed-down, but I could see a bleached area near the base of the fire hydrant where the service dogs clearly preferred to relieve themselves. I couldn't bear to even think of relieving myself in public like this, so I just thought 'dry thoughts' until Quentin came back. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, his next appointment confirmation chiming away, he grabbed my leash, and we were on our way.

[...]

The first night, we didn't have sex. As soon as the muzzle and backpack were off Quentin was checking in with me: was I ok? Did I need anything? How did I feel?

I couldn't answer, because I had absolutely no idea. So much had happened that I more-or-less silently stumbled to the couch, flopped forward, and sobbed. I wasn't even sure I was sad, but I knew I was overwhelmed. The world usually felt like it was 'too much' for me, and I would be forced to shake the illusion, but here I was having been assured that the world was too much for me and the delusion was that I had ever been able to handle it at all.

And

my heart ached for Quentin too... Having had to go through all these struggles alone until now. It was all so

heartbreaking

: I cried myself to sleep right there on the couch in the middle of the afternoon.

I woke to the smells of my favourite French specialty that Quentin made and the sounds of a nature documentary piping through the TV speakers. In the background I could hear Quentin puttering around the kitchen. Through the windows it was clear that night had fallen. Setting something to simmer on the stove Quentin came to my rousing form on the couch.

"

Le souper

will be ready soon

mon amour

: it is time to wake," he rubbed my shoulders under the harness I hadn't removed in my haste to collapse on the couch. Gently lifting me by the harness strap, he pulled me to my feet. "Let's get this harness off, yes?"

Feeling slightly more 'human' after my rest, I replied "Yeah, can you help please?" It was probably the first I'd spoken since the veterinarian's office.

Wordlessly, Quentin unclipped the harness straps securing me and gently bundled the harness to sit next to the backpack which waited by the front door. "Tonight, I think, this comes off?" asked Quentin as he fingered my animal tags. I nodded and he tenderly removed it. "There, there is my love again!" smiled Quentin as he led me by the hand to the table. "We'll take this one day at a time, but tonight I wanted to thank you for taking this big step."

The duck he had prepared was

sumptuous

: a savory blackberry reduction poured over delicious grilled duck breasts. He completed the meal with a simple salad and some greens, but I'd always relished the duck with the sauce paired with a crusty baguette. Eating this well all the time would have almost made up for having to be French.

We shared a quiet evening in that night, doing our best to unpack ourselves in a cozy shared silence. We fell asleep in each other's arms that night, dreaming of what was to come.

[...]

The first week had been difficult, strange, and altogether unsettling.

Difficult, because it was such a shift for us. For Quentin, it meant constantly having to explain about having a service animal, constantly checking the rules they needed to follow, and gradually taking more and more control over my life. For me, it had meant being almost constantly muzzled in public, being made to stay off furniture in places, following rules meant for dogs in others, and a frustrating amount of time tied up outside some place.

Almost every aspect of my life was touched. I doubted he'd ever really get used to the Human Service Animal relief areas, but at least they offered some privacy and surprising hygiene. But even the way we walked together had had to change to accommodate the leash. Sometimes we were even using a system similar to Trixie and Ralph, where Quentin simply kept a firm grip on my harness as we navigated busy places.

We'd had to start some new routines. For starters, I stopped going to work each day, as I was working basically every day now, but as a service animal. That by itself was a massive shift. The household income I represented now featured as a line item in Quentin's veteran's support payments.

In a way, that was my salary.

In another, more accessible way, I was simply no longer expected to have a job like a normal person.

Since I no longer had any reason to go out unless Quentin was going out, Quentin's instructions had been to ensure I got out on a walk at least once a day, and to try to ensure I had at least one outing a week to somewhere fun for me.

We'd shelved trying to make weekend plans for a few days and tried to focus on finding our new balance. There were more than just the walks, the public interactions, the muzzling, and the clothing: Quentin was supposed to direct animal-centric therapy and Matty was supposed to do his best to enjoy it...

It had been a few days into the trial session when I had found himself "needing" my boyfriend's attention again.

I had been feeling frisky all day, but something about our walk that afternoon had gotten me all worked-up. Maybe it was the wink I got from the tall-dark-and-handsome coming out of the gym, or maybe it was the look the corner store cashier gave Quentin, maybe it was something in the water, but by the time I got through the door I was tenting my shorts and hard enough to punch a hole in drywall.

When Quentin had gotten his shoes off and moved to unclip my leash, he noticed my raging hard on. He chuckled, then looked, slightly ashamed.

"Ohh someone's a little excited! That's a naughty boy walking around in public like that..." He mockingly admonished, "but I suppose it's my fault for not seeing to my puppy's... Needs..."

My Quentin had never called me puppy before, but in the moment I was too horny to care. I simply turned and gave him a pleasing look, and whimpered.

"Ok

mon amour

, let us get your harness off," Quentin said as he unclipped the harness and removed it with the backpack. Instantly I could feel the relief of the mass lifted off--I hadn't realized how much it had been weighing on me.

I went for my muzzle when Quentin stopped me, grasping my hand, he had a fiery look in his eyes I'd never seen before.