Brent hummed to himself, a pep in his step, as he walked up to the door of his apartment. Getting a leg up on Taylor had given him a whole new sense of self-confidence and the results more than spoke for themselves.

For one thing, he was pulled into a meeting with one of the higher-ups and the head of Sales. They’d gotten on his ass about his refusal to even attempt to implement the feature the client had asked for but he’d stood up for himself, for once.

Brent would normally have folded from the pressure but not this time. He gave an impromptu presentation about how stupid and infeasible the idea was and why Sales shouldn’t make promises to clients without first consulting with the dev team.

He swung the door open and smiled as he stepped inside. The entryway was the cleanest it had ever been and he almost felt bad for kicking his shoes off to the side.

Taylor was on the couch in the living room, playing video games as he usually was whenever Brent came home. He looked over his shoulder, smoldering resentment in his eyes as his gaze met Brent’s. Wisely, he said nothing and turned his attention back to the TV.

Brent wasn’t quite that merciful to let Taylor go so easily, though. “Credit where credit’s due—you did a pretty good job,” he said. “Such a good boy you are.”

The comment was met with resounding silence but Brent had expected as much. He retrieved his whistle and blew it. “Pause your game and look at me.”

“I can’t fucking pause the game! It’s online! There are other players!” Taylor complained. His body had other thoughts, though, as he brought up the main menu and turned away from the TV.

Brent smirked, his eyes briefly flitting to the screen to watch Taylor’s character get shot in the head despite the main menu covering most of the display. “What?” he said with a light laugh. “No greeting for your owner?”

“Fuck off with that shit,” said Taylor, grimacing as the game proudly announced his death and the subsequent termination of his kill-streak. “I’m not gonna fucking welcome the pervert that’s ruining my life.”

“On the contrary, I think I’m improving it,” said Brent. He blew on the whistle again and gave another command: “Whenever I come home, I expect you to be waiting for me in the entryway, on your knees, looking up at me, and wagging that ass like a good dog.”

“What the fuck, man?!” said Taylor. “Take it back! I’m a person, not a fucking dog!”

Brent shrugged. He blew the whistle and pointed to the ground in front of him. “Come,” he said.

Taylor obeyed. He didn’t have a choice.

“You know, I realized something,” said Brent.

“I don’t care.”

“Oh you will,” said Brent. “Because I realized it’s pretty inconvenient to blow the whistle every time I want to tell you what to do when I can just do this…”

Brent blew the whistle. The sharp, shrill tone filled the apartment, though he didn’t really hear most of the higher frequencies. “You’re going to follow every command I give you—whistle or no.”

Taylor shuddered. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed but he wasn’t dumb either. Brent was sure the implications had just dawned on the meathead.

Even if the whistle was lost or damaged, Brent would always have control unless Taylor managed to find some way to break free on his own.

Nevertheless, it was a reality likely too difficult to bear for Taylor. “Like that will work,” he scoffed, sounding perhaps less confident than he would have liked.

Brent grinned. “We’ll just have to find out,” he said. “Kneel.”

Taylor let out a grunt as he dropped to the floor on his knees. His height was just enough to put him at eye-level with Brent’s crotch

“No,” Taylor breathed, his eyes widening as he saw the bulge in Brent’s pants. “You can’t do this. Not again.”

Brent smirked. “I can,” he said simply—as if it were a fact as true as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. “And honestly, you should be thankful.”

“For what? Having your dirty faggot dick shoved in my mouth?” said Taylor, looking faintly green at the prospect. “I told you already! I’m not fucking gay! And no matter what you do to me, that’s not gonna fucking change!”

Taylor gagged. “Fuck! I can’t even get the taste out of my mouth!”

Brent laughed. “That’s a good thing. You should get used to it. You’ll be tasting it a lot and you’ll learn to enjoy and crave it sooner or later.”

“I’d rather die,” said Taylor.

“Now, now,” Brent cautioned. “You should be glad you’re getting to suck on your owner’s bone. It’s the best reward dogs like you can think of getting.”

Taylor flushed. It was clear the humiliation and casual degradation was getting to him. For someone that regularly dished out belittlement, the guy seemed poorly equipped to handle the same being done to him.

“Release him,” said Brent, patting his bulge in front of Taylor’s eyes.

It didn’t take long before his cock was free, his pants and boxer briefs dragged halfway down his legs by Taylor’s fingers hooked into his waistband.

Brent wasn’t the biggest guy on the block but there was still enough heft to his cock that after springing up, it landed down and flopped right along the bridge of Taylor’s nose.

“Suck me off. I’ll give you a reward if you do a good job,” he said.

Taylor made a face but he could do little to resist a direct order. He wrapped his lips around the head of Brent’s cock, working it over with his tongue before slowly working his throat down the length of it.

“Make sure you don’t miss a drop,” said Brent, drawing Taylor’s eyes up to meet his gaze. “Cum is the tastiest, most precious reward a good dog could ask for. You should be grateful I’m even giving you this chance to work for a reward.”

The tips of Taylor’s ears turned red as his body forced him into a blowjob he didn’t want to do. He started slow, working his lips inch by inch down the length of Brent’s shaft until they were locked firmly around the base.

Brent chuckled, stroking his fingers through Taylor’s soft blond hair. “You’re doing a great job, pet. But you should show off how eager you are to slobber on your owner’s bone.”

He’d barely finished before Taylor was sloppily deep-throating him. He threw his head back and groaned, his fingers tangling in the big guy’s hair as he let loose and pumped his hips.

Brent skull-fucked Taylor with no mercy, even going so far as to revel in the spluttering, gagging, and choking. The sloppier the blowjob was, the more turned on he got, and he loved the desperate, pleading, and yet somehow still hateful look in Taylor’s eyes.

“Be glad I’m going to blast my nut straight down the back of your throat, pet,” said Brent.

He hadn’t meant it as a command, but he could scarcely hold back his laughter when the corners of Taylor’s mouth curled into a smile around his cock.

Taylor nodding eagerly like a born cocksucker was enough to send Brent over the edge. He slammed his cock into Taylor’s gullet and groaned, burying himself as deep into Taylor’s throat as he could before blowing his load.

Brent pulled out of Taylor’s mouth with a lewd wet squelch. His cock was followed by a gush of spit and throat-slime that splattered all over the floor.

“Clean up the mess,” he said, waiting with his hands on his hips as Taylor grabbed a hand towel and did as he was told.

Brent smirked. “Good dog. You deserve a reward.”

Taylor looked up. For the first time since Brent took control, he seemed like he actually had some hope. “About fucking time you let me come,” he said. “It’s been driving me up the fucking wall!”

Brent laughed. The way Taylor’s expression fell when he did was priceless. “I never said anything about that,” he said as he reached into his bag and pulled out the ‘reward’ he’d bought on the way back home from work.

It was a thin, bright pink leather collar that said “Good Girl” across the front. Taylor visibly recoiled at the sight of it and said, “No way I’m putting on that collar.”

Brent chuckled. “I’ve just been so impressed at how good you’ve been, pet. I want to show off to the world just what a good dog I have. So you’re going to put this on and you’re not even going to think of trying to take it off—or having someone else take it off for that matter—because the only person allowed to take it off is me.”

Taylor shook his head. He tried to take a step back but his feet kept him firmly rooted to the spot.

Brent just smirked as he looped the collar around Taylor’s neck and buckled it into place. “There we go,” he said with a light laugh. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You’re a sick motherfucker, you know that, Brent?” said Taylor, acid dripping from his words.

Brent ignored the comment. He took a step back and looked Taylor up and down, humming to himself as he rubbed his chin. “Something’s not quite right with this picture,” he said, holding up his hands to frame Taylor.

“Yeah,” said Taylor sardonically as he crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s a grown man getting forced to wear a humiliating collar against his will by some perverted faggot.”

“No, no. That’s not it… Oh! I know!” Brent feigned an epiphany. “Dogs aren’t supposed to wear clothes.”

“Fuck you, man. I’m not going to walk around naked just so you can keep perving on me,” said Taylor.

“I don’t think you understand who’s in charge here, Tay. Strip.” Brent smirked. “And unless I give you something to wear, this is how you’re going to be at home.”

Taylor glared at Brent as he started stripping off his clothes. He looked like he had more to say—threats most likely—but his mouth remained firmly shut.

“Oh, and if you do ever go out, you can pretend to be a person and wear clothes,” said Brent. “But you have to wear only jocks, thongs, or go commando underneath. We don’t want you forgetting what you really are.”

Taylor slipped off his shorts and in the brief moment Brent got to peek before Taylor covered himself, Brent saw that the big guy was sporting a chub. It was a good sign. The conditioning was working.

Brent did, however, notice that Taylor was still wearing something: a red smart watch on his right wrist. He held out a hand for it and said, “You’re not to wear anything I don’t authorize.”

Taylor begrudgingly removed the watch and handed it over to Brent. “Fine,” he said.

Brent pocketed the watch. As he stuffed himself back into his pants, he looked at Taylor and said, “You know, come to think of it, dogs probably shouldn’t be standing on their hind legs, either.”

Taylor’s eyes widened. He shook his head. “Come on, man. This is far enough, right? Don’t make me do that! I get it! I was a dick, okay? I’m sorry!”

Brent chuckled. “This is an important part of your rehabilitation, girl,” he said. “Get on your hands and knees.”

“Good girl,” he said as Taylor dropped to the ground. “Now, as long as you’re at home or somewhere private with me, this is how you should stay. No walking on two legs. Hands and knees. Like a good dog. Unless absolutely necessary.”

Taylor strained his neck as he looked up at Brent. “Please, man…”

Brent ignored the plea. “Now go sit in front of the TV. Not on the couch—dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture. Shut down your silly game, put on some gay porn, and edge that fat doggy dick for a couple of hours while fantasizing about taking cocks up that muscular ass.”

---

“Yeah, yeah. We can definitely try that…” Brent trailed off halfway through his sentence as his phone—which was facedown on his desk—chimed with a notification.

“Actually…” Brent picked up his phone. “Do you think we can circle back to this later? I have to take care of this.”

“Yeah, sure, boss. Around what time are you thinking?”

Brent tapped his phone on his chin. “How about first thing after lunch?”

“Sounds good! Let me know if things change!”

“I will. Oh, and don’t forget to close the door on your way out! Thank you!” Brent called out as he turned his attention to his phone.

The ping was exactly what he was hoping it would be. A notification from Taylor’s smart watch that he’d gone to the gym. It was about the only actual religion the big guy adhered to despite being nominally Catholic.

This wasn’t Taylor’s normal gym, though. Before work, Brent had gotten him to cancel his membership with his old gym in favor of a membership at another nearby gym. The two chains were pretty similar, as far as he understood—one just catered to queer men.

Brent smirked to himself. Modifying Taylor’s watch had truly been a stroke of genius. He hadn’t tested it yet but there was no better way to put a piece of software through the wringer than to see it in a production environment.

He delivered a command through the app he’d hastily thrown together and had Taylor video call him so he could watch. Sure enough, moments later, a call came through.

Taylor was visibly furious but Brent didn’t care about that. He was wearing a tight tank top that left very little to the imagination. A pair of tiny compression shorts was wrapped snugly around his muscular ass.

The shorts were so tight the outlines of the straps of the red jockstrap Taylor wore underneath were visible through the fabric. And the legs were so short that even a slight bend at the waist exposed the bottom part of Taylor’s ass.

Brent had Taylor prop the phone up nearby as he went through the motions of his workout. He was happy to watch for a few minutes before he decided to up the ante a bit. “Take off your shirt.”

“What the fuck, man?” Taylor hissed under his breath as his arms peeled the tank top off his chest. “Here? All these fucking queers will think I’m one of them!”

Brent just laughed. “Oh, and make sure to give them a show,” he said.

Taylor turned an angry shade of red as he rolled his torso and gyrated his hips, grinding against the air as he seductively stripped off his shirt. Despite himself, it didn’t take very long for a bulge to form in the front of his shorts, the bulge of his fat hog almost obscene under the form-fitting fabric.

Days of edging likely had Taylor hornier than he’d ever been, Brent was willing to bet, and the effects more than spoke for themselves. He wasn’t the only one to notice, either. A couple of guys in the background were looking at Taylor, small smiles playing on their lips.

“Be more vocal,” said Brent as Taylor did his tricep extensions while bent over a bench. “Show them how manly you are. Make sure they can hear you grunt and groan.”

“Ugh. Fuck. Nnh.” Taylor was making noises that would have put the best gay porn stars to shame. “C’mon, bro—Ugh! Don’t make me—Unf—Do this!”

“Arch that back, girl,” said Brent. “And push that ass up into the air. Show off those assets.”

One of the guys working out nearby taunted Taylor. “Hey boys. Looks like we’ve got a kinky little slut putting on a show today!” he said.

If Taylor had hoped that no more people would notice what he was doing, that hope was dashed in an instant.

“Oh yeah, boy,” said a silver fox on a nearby elliptical machine. “Show off that fat bubble butt. Turn this way a bit. Yeah. Like that. Arch that back. Oh yeah. Let daddy get a good look at that juicy pussy.”

“Fuck off!” Taylor yelled, the red on his face spreading to his neck and the tips of his ears. “I don’t want dirty perverts watching me. I’m no fucking faggot!”

“Remove those shorts, pet,” Brent ordered.

“Fuck! No! Please!” Taylor begged. It was too late, though. The shorts were gone before he even knew it, leaving him in just his training shoes, collar, watch, and jockstrap.

One of the other gym-goers approached and noticed Brent on Taylor’s phone screen. “Hey, is that your phone?” he said, pointing to it.

“What’s it to you?” Taylor snapped, his face practically incandescent from the embarrassment.

Brent clicked his tongue. “You’re going to answer any question these men ask of you.”

Taylor hung his head. “Yeah. It’s my phone.”

The guy laughed. “So, you’re telling me, a guy like you… You’re taking orders from a guy half your size?”

“I do!” said Taylor, though his expression said he loathed to admit it. “I have no choice! He has some sort of magic! I’m a straight guy! He’s been forcing me to do humiliating, perverted shit for days!”

The guy waggled his eyebrows. “Oh yeah, I bet he has some magic alright,” he said with a little smirk.

“It’s not a euphemism!” Taylor protested.

“Honey, there’s no such thing,” said another of the guys. “And you know what, even if you were telling the truth. I honestly think you deserve it.”

Taylor scowled. “Should have known all you faggots are the same. Twisted, perverted, pathetic freaks.”

He shook his head. “You have to resort to this kind of thing because you know straight guys will never touch you filthy, disgusting, degenerates.”

There was a ripple of laughter from the small audience that had gathered around Taylor. “I mean, let’s be real, baby girl. From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the biggest faggot in this gym.”

“Yeah!” said another. “Look at that jockstrap. It’s like that cock’s trying to break out.”

“And that pretty pink boypussy’s been fluttering like crazy this whole time.”

Brent snorted. This was going far better than he’d hoped. “You should whip that fat hog out, girl. Edge yourself in between sets. And listen to whatever your audience tells you.”

He turned to the other guys that had gathered around to watch Taylor. “You guys feel free to have fun with him. Make requests. Take pictures and videos.”

“Fuck yeah. Thanks, bro!” said one of the guys as he whipped out his phone to start recording.

Brent chuckled. “I just have one rule. No one touch him. Not because I don’t want to share—he’s just not fully housebroken yet and I want to make sure I fix that attitude problem before I let him serve other men.”

“Other men?!” Taylor exclaimed. “No fucking way! I’d rather fucking die!”

His face turned bright red as he tugged the pouch of his jock aside and grabbed his cock. He looked at the ground, clearly unwilling to look his audience in the eye.

They had other ideas, though. “Look up, baby girl. Let us see the silly faces you make while you beat that straight meat!” said one of the guys.

Taylor was helpless but to obey. Even when another voice jumped in and said, “Oh, and make sure to grab those hefty balls and tug on them. You don’t want to neglect those!”

More phones had been taken out. Some were taking pictures. Most were recording. One guy shouted, “Hey! Tell us who you are, what you are, and what you’re doing!”

Taylor gritted his teeth, looking in the direction of the guy that had spoken. “I’m Taylor. I’m a straight guy. And a bunch of perverted, pathetic faggots are forcing me to jerk off for their twisted fantasies!”

“That’s not quite right!” said another of the guys. “You should tell us that you’re a good girl—just like your collar says—and that you’re learning how to be a good little slut by showing off your body and playing with your swollen clitty for men’s entertainment!”

Taylor bit his lip and shook his head, his eyes watering from the sheer effort of resisting the command. In the end, he wasn’t able to help but say the words.

“Hi! I’m Taylor! I’m a good girl! I’m learning how to be a proper little slut by showing off my body—” he struck a little pose as if to underline the point “—and playing with my swollen clitty!” He thrust his hips forward and stroked himself faster, pre-come getting everywhere as he did.

The guys cheered. After a moment, one cut in and said, “Okay, baby. That’s enough. Get back to your workout. Do some squats for us.”

“Fuck off! It’s my chest and arms day!” said Taylor. No one seemed to care, though, and his body dropped right into a set of squats as was requested.

“Fold your arms behind your head, pet,” said Brent. “Let them see you.”

Taylor silently seethed as his body obeyed the order.

“That’s more like it!” said one of the guys. “Puff that chest out and arch that back. Show off those delicious tits and that fat, fuckable ass!”

With every demeaning request, more and more of Taylor’s resistance seemed to wear away. His eyes watered, and he couldn’t stop himself from sniffling.

“Aw, don’t cry baby girl,” said one of the guys. “It’s okay. You can do it. Just think how good it will feel to bate that dong once you finish this set.”

Brent could see the moment the command took root. Taylor’s expression turned to one of desperate pleasure. His tongue pretty much lolled out as he panted, his cock straining and leaking like a hose.

“Okay, edge again!” said one of the guys after Taylor finished the second set of squats.

Taylor immediately grabbed his cock and pumped away. He moaned and did as he was told when one guy told him to lean over the bench and really fuck his handpussy.

Another one shouted out, “Hey! Look at the camera! Tell us you’re a cocky straight guy that got taken down a peg and is learning to be a good girl by letting a faggot take control of your uncummed loser cock.”

Brent had to laugh. The irony was delicious. Taylor had probably never been called a loser in his life and he himself was going to be the first to do so.

A tear trickled down the side of Taylor’s face as he lost the battle to choke down the words. He blurted them out with confidence, the flush in his cheeks darkening even more somehow as he did so.

After a minute or so more of this, one of the guys told Taylor to get back to his workout. “Do some standing toe touches!” said a voice from the crowd, which was continuing to grow with new arrivals to the gym. “Show us you really want gay dick in that straight fuckhole so you can be a good girl!”

Brent chuckled. “Alright, guys, this has been fun. Unfortunately, I have to get back to work.”

There were a few disappointed groans from the crowd.

“Don’t worry. You can keep playing with him if you want. Just make sure he gets home before the end of the workday. He still has chores to do,” said Brent with a laugh. “Oh and make sure you get the bitch to give you my number so you all can send me those pictures and videos.”

---

Brent was in high spirits when he got home. He had his phone in hand, clips of Taylor’s humiliation playing on the screen as he massaged his cock through his pants.

When he opened the door, he found Taylor on the other side, waiting as instructed. Taylor was naked, looking up at Brent with wide and eager eyes while wagging his ass from side to side like a proper pup.

Brent licked his lips, wondering how Taylor would look with a proper rubber tail sticking out of his muscular rump. “Be more enthusiastic, girl—like you’ve been waiting all day for your owner to come home,” he said.

Taylor flushed red with rage but wisely bit his tongue. He did as he was told, barking and bouncing on his front paws, body shaking as he wiggled more enthusiastically.

Brent placed a hand on the back of Taylor’s neck and said, “Sniff my balls, girl,” he said, ramming Taylor’s face into his crotch. “This is how you greet your owner properly.”

“Go fuck yourself!” said Taylor as he rubbed his nose over the bulge of Brent’s erection. “You think you’re so much better than me but you’re not if this is the kind of depraved shit you’re willing to do to someone else.”

Brent ignored the comment. “Come. I’m famished. You should make me some dinner,” he said as he brushed past and walked toward the living room.

“Is that ash, charcoal, or tar that you’d like for the evening, sir?” said Taylor, his voice just dripping with sarcasm.

Brent snorted. “Warming up the takeout in the fridge will do for now. But you’ll have to learn how to cook and serve one day.”

“Fine,” said Taylor with a huff. That he didn’t put up more of a fight was a bit of a surprise but a pleasant one.

Brent was happy to watch that supple ass ripple as Taylor made his way to the kitchen. It only occurred to him when Taylor was almost there that he’d made a glaring omission in his command.

“You are not to spit in my food or otherwise tamper with it!” he called out.

Taylor froze, betraying what his intentions had been. Without acknowledging the command, he continued.

“Say ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘Yes, Master’ if I give you a command,” said Brent.

“Yes, Sir,” said Taylor through gritted teeth.

“Say it like you mean it.”

Taylor’s shoulders drooped. “Yes, Sir!” he said, the enthusiasm in his voice entirely disjointed from the dispirited slump in his shoulders.

---

Brent snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor in front of him. “Come over,” he said as he set the empty cartons of Chinese food on the coffee table.

He had Taylor do a couple of dog tricks to reinforce the obedience training—and for fun, too—before having him expose himself. “Thrust your hips out, girl. Yeah. Just like that,” he said with a little smile.

Taylor was rock hard. Having him edge and deny himself repeatedly while subjecting him to humiliation had primed him to be aroused when doing degrading things. Pre-cum dribbled liberally along the underside of his cock, dripping off his balls onto the floor.

“Look how full these are,” said Brent as he caressed Taylor’s balls with his foot. “And look how swollen your poor clitty is. It’s leaking so much.”

The corner of Brent’s mouth curled in a little smirk as he leaned forward to cup the side of Taylor’s face. “You must want to come so badly by now. But you won’t. Because you’re a good girl and you’d never come without permission.”

Taylor spat in Brent’s face. “Fuck off,” he said. “I fucking hate you.”

Brent was stunned speechless for a moment. Then, his expression darkened. “I thought the last few days improved your attitude but clearly that’s not the case,” he said, his voice low and menacing like the rumble of distant thunder.

Taylor’s smug, self-satisfied expression quickly slipped. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered as the ramifications of what he’d done suddenly hit him.

“More drastic actions need to be taken,” said Brent. “Go get the box under my bed.” He never raised his voice—nor did he let anger slip into his tone—but he pumped as much cold malice into the words as he could.

Taylor practically scampered off to do as he was told, returning with head hung and box in his hands.

Brent flipped open the lid while Taylor was still holding the box. Inside was a frilly bright pink tutu and a cock ring with a Bluetooth-capable vibrator attachment.

Taylor’s face scrunched up and Brent saw the moment he decided to double down on his mistake.

“You’re a disgusting pervert,” Taylor hissed. “I don’t care what sort of humiliating show you’re gonna make me put on for you, I’m never going to willingly do what you tell me to.”

Brent chuckled but there was no mirth in his voice. “We’ll see about that. Put these on.”

Taylor did as he was told, slipping the cock ring over his cock and balls. It was a perfect fit, snug but not too tight, and it made Taylor’s erection all the more obscene.

There was a remote control in the box. Brent retrieved it and with the push of a button, set the ring to vibrate at the lowest intensity.

The results were immediate. A low groan bubbled out of Taylor as a glob of pre-cum dripped off the tip of his cock as it bobbed up and down.

The tutu went on next. It was about ridiculous as Brent was hoping. Perhaps even more so on Taylor’s too-big form.

The skirt was frilly and almost excessively so, the bright pink so hot as to be aggressive. It was also extremely short, doing very little to cover Taylor’s muscle ass, and doing nothing at all to hide his erection.

Indeed, the front part of the tutu was too short to fully cover his erect cock. Instead, the hem rested on the top of his cock, the frilly fabric draped on either side, bobbing with every bounce.

“You’re fucking sick,” said Taylor. “You need help.”

“The only person who needs help is you, buddy,” said Brent. “Follow me.”

Taylor immediately blanched when he noticed Brent was heading for the front door. “No, please,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! I’ll be a good girl! I promise!”

Brent smirked.

“I’ll do whatever you ask!” said Taylor as he dropped to his hands and knees, his body walking him over to where Brent was standing in the entryway. “Just don’t make me do this, please!”

“It’s cute you think you have any say in this,” said Brent. “Come.”

Taylor’s eyes watered. “This is fucked, man! This is crossing a line!” he said. “I don’t want people to think I’m a pervert. I could be fucking arrested!”

Brent shrugged. “That sounds like a you problem,” he said. “Now come, girl. Let’s go for a walk.”

---

Brent stopped just before the front doors of the apartment building. “When I open this door, you’re going to go out onto the sidewalk. You’re going to dance some ballet in your little tutu to entertain the passersby.”

“Please,” Taylor croaked. “Anything but this. You want me to suck your dick? I’ll suck it. Please.”

Brent shrugged. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you spat in my face.”

“I don’t know how to dance ballet!” Taylor complained.

Brent laughed. “Make your best effort, anyway. I’m sure you have some idea of what ballet looks like.”

“What would people think?!” said Taylor. “What if this gets on the internet? How am I supposed to get a job?!”

“Silly pet. Dogs don’t need jobs,” said Brent with a little smirk. “While you’re dancing out there, make sure to keep edging yourself. Here’s the remote. Take it.”

Taylor took the remote from Brent—even though his expression said he wanted anything but to have it in his hands.

“Be vocal. Let the world know how good your bloated clit feels,” said Brent. “Oh, and whenever you get to the edge, I want you to yell that you’re about to come but that you won’t because you don’t deserve to come for being a bad girl.”

“C’mon, man. Fine. I’ll be your dog. I’ll be your fucking dog! Just don’t make me do this!” said Taylor.

“Enough,” said Brent. He turned the doorknob and pushed it open. The effect was instantaneous.

Taylor got up and walked onto the sidewalk. He adopted a pose that was best described as a perversion of a plie.

He twirled, his cock flinging a single glistening strand of pre-cum around him in a perfect circle. The flailing dance that followed was equally tragically pathetic and hilarious.

Brent watched as Taylor pushed the button repeatedly, increasing the intensity of the vibration until he hit the edge. “I’m coming!” Taylor cried out. “I’m coming! But I won’t! Because bad girls don’t deserve to cum!”

---

Brent kicked up his feet on the coffee table. He sighed and smiled. He’d just sent Taylor the command to wrap things up and head back to the apartment and he felt great.

A few minutes passed before he heard the door open and close, the noise followed by the quiet thump of Taylor dropping to his hands and knees. The big guy shuffled into the living room, head hung.

“Come here, girl,” said Brent, patting the armrest of the couch.

“Yes, Master…” said Taylor, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

Brent patted his lap. “Up here, girl,” he said.

Taylor’s shoulders slumped even further somehow. It seemed like it should have been a physical impossibility. He lay on his stomach across Brent’s lap, his hard cock poking the side of Brent’s leg.

“Will you be a good girl from now on?” said Brent.

Taylor whimpered and nodded. “Yes, Master…” he whined softly.

“Good,” said Brent. “But discipline is a process. You’ll have good days and bad days. Sometimes you’ll even regress…”

The way Taylor tensed at the implication sent a thrill through Brent’s body.

“Don’t worry, I know how to train dogs and make discipline stick,” said Brent. “Just gotta make sure you understand being obedient and eager to please will feel much better than being a rebellious little shit.”

Taylor nodded again. “I’ll try my best, Master!” he said.

Brent chuckled. “That’s good.”

He picked up a tube of lube he’d prepared while Taylor was out on the street. He popped the cap open and squirted a dollop onto his fingers.

“If that’s really the case, if you really want to be a good girl, you wouldn’t mind spreading those legs, would you?” said Brent.

Taylor shook his head. “No, Master!” he breathed.

“Good. Then you won’t mind me playing with your tight boypussy either, yeah?”

Taylor whimpered softly. This time, he obeyed without needing to be forced. He hiked his legs apart and arched his back, pushing his ass into the air like the guys at the gym had taught him. He yowled with pain as Brent slapped his ass.

“Good girl,” said Brent with a laugh. “We’ll make a proper bitch out of you yet.”