Page 36 of Chance's Choice
I grumble all the way to the bathroom where Daddy makes me wash my hands and face properly before he squeezes toothpaste onto my Avengers themed toothbrush and arches an eyebrow when I hesitate with it halfway to my mouth.
“Kaden, don’t make me brush them for you. You know that will also earn you corner time.”
Corner time isnotfun. Not like spanking is.
I sigh dramatically and pop the head of the brush in my mouth, scowling at the spicy mint taste while I scrub.
Daddy smirks and cards his fingers through my hair. “Good boy.”
The words light me up inside, filling my tummy with butterflies, and it makes brushing my teeth worthwhile.
* * *
“So, do you feel like Pup or Boy today?” Daddy asks me when we’re back in his bedroom. He’s standing in front of the closet expectantly.
“Pup.” I don’t even hesitate. I have no reason to. Not anymore.
I love that, even though I want Daddy to make most decisions for me, he still asks me to tell him where my head is at. He genuinely doesn’t seem to prefer boy over pup -or vice versa- and I can’t express just how much more I love him for that. I know he had misgivings about being ‘Master’ to a pup, but we’ve talked about it over the past few weeks and, because he’s still Daddy, those worries have been allayed. He just has a fur baby instead of a human one sometimes. That’s a thing, right? Even if it’s not, we’re making it one. Like he said all those weeks ago: we get to set the rules on what works for us. And this works for us.
“Perfect,” Daddy says, then points towards the bathroom. “Go potty, get undressed, then come back here so we can get you all dressed in your puppy clothes.”
I obey, putting my pajamas in the laundry hamper before scampering back out to the bedroom to find Daddy sitting on the edge of the bed with one of my pup costumes all set out beside him on top of the covers.
A few weeks ago, he surprised me with a selection of long-sleeved body suits designed specifically for puppy play. I’d already told him I wasn’t into pleather, vinyl, or leather, so he found a company online that made softer, cuter outfits and ordered me three. One of them is a dalmatian print, another a tawny golden color in a slightly furry texture, and the third is the one we call ‘the mutt’, because it’s got longer fur in random patches of color. All three are soft and warm -the dalmatian a breathable cotton which will work better in summer time- and have a specially designed crotch/ass area, so if we decided to use the butt plug tails, or I wanted to start marking my territory in the backyard, we would just need to unzip a couple of hidden patches of material and take them off. It’s really quite clever, and I’ve been wearing my belted tail under my costume and slipping it through the specially designed patch at the rear (intended for plug tails) to make my whole look sleeker.
Today, he’s chosen the mutt, which is my favorite costume. He helps me climb into it and situates my tail, then zips the whole suit up using the hidden zip that starts just below my navel and travels up to the collar of the body suit. Next he helps put on my front paws, and finally my ears. By the time it’s done, my head is in pup space.
It’s not a whole lot different to little space. Fuzzy and floaty and relaxed. Admittedly, I find it harder to focus on long strings of words when I’m in this headspace, so Daddy usually communicates in simple words and phrases. And touch. He’s always affectionate, but when I’m a pup it seems even more pronounced. He’s always petting the hair on my head, stroking a hand on my back, or tapping out a gentle, pleasant rhythm on my hip or my butt cheek if we’re sprawled out and resting. He scritches behind my ear or rubs my belly when we wrestle play. It’s the absolute best.
“Come on, boy,” he says once I’m dressed and on all fours, waggling my butt in anticipation of whatever fun he has planned for us, “outside. I’ve got something new for us to try.”
I bolt for the hallway, my knees -acting as rear paws- slipping on the tiles in my current furry costume. But outside time is the best, so I right myself and continue to race for the back door.
This is one of the many perks of Chance living so far out of town. His backyard is large and private, with his house set further back from his closest neighbors. He also has high timber fences and lots of trees around the perimeter, providing additional coverage, too.
I was surprised to discover that Chance is one of those ‘lawn proud’ kind of guys. He’s meticulous about lawn maintenance – mowing, weeding, keeping the soil healthy or whatever- and it shows. His house might need work, but his yard is like something out of a magazine. The grass is pristine and soft under foot. He’s got a little oasis down the far end of the yard, complete with wooden decking and a pergola and sun loungers, surrounded by plants and blooming flowers. On this end, off the back of his house he has an outdoor entertaining area set up with matching timber decking, a grill and a large outdoor table and chairs.
But, instead of the wide expanse of grass I’m used to seeing between the two spaces, the space now contains a variety of obstacles – the kind you see on those dog competition shows. There’s a ramp constructed of two wide planks of wood set at forty-five degree angles, a large tunnel that looksjustbig enough for me to crawl through, a series of plastic cones set out in a straight line on the ground, and…are those little hurdles?
I stop short on the deck, just outside the backdoor as I take it in, sitting back on my butt and cocking my head up at Daddy, making one ear flop over the top of my head.
He chuckles. “…like it?….obstacle play…little boys play too…”
I know he’s actually speaking in sentences, but only half of his words really filter through to my puppy brain. Still, I get the gist. I bark and bounce a little on the spot, excited to try out new toys with my Daddy.
“Stay,” he instructs with a firm tone that has me sitting up straight and still. “Good boy.” He strokes my head, then brandishes a collar and leash. They’re made of a light blue colored leather with diamantes inset, and I instantly love them. I try not to wiggle too much in my happiness when Daddy bends to secure the collar around my neck. The leash is already clipped to it.
“Now… walking…leash…” he explains, again using more words than I actually hear, and all my mind focuses on is ‘walk’.
I spring up and surge forward towards the yard, tugging Daddy along behind me.
“Kade!” He gives the leash a quick tug in warning. “Sit! Stay!”
It’s hard to follow the command. I want to explore the yard, sniff the grass, stretch my muscles. I want to run and frolic and play. But Daddy’s commands are firm and he tightens his hold on the leash.
“Slow,” he instructs, starting to get into the habit of smaller instructions. “No pulling. Now, come.”
We set off around the perimeter of the yard at a slower pace than I want to take. But Daddy lets me stop to sniff at things, laughing when a nose full of pollen causes me to sneeze. We practice basic commands while we walk, with Daddy randomly telling me to ‘Sit’, ‘Stay’, and, at one point, ‘Lay down’. By the time we make it back to the spot where we started, he’s praising me for being a good boy and making me sit again before digging into his pocket and pulling out a little ziplock bag of…TREATS!
