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You’re starting to wonder if there was some sort of kink that was the opposite of sensory deprivation. Sensory overload, since that was exactly what you felt.

But then, it made sense that Rob would no doubt have access to whatever he wanted, include translucent latex of such a soft pink. It stood out well against the pallor of your skin, not quiet neon but bright enough for contrast, your entire torso wrapped tightly in it from the high collar, down your chest and belly until the one-piece pinned your cock to your pelvis. A color of white and pink was nestled around your neck, though you couldn’t feel much of the fur lining thanks to your garment. Cuffs around your upper arms matched the leather accouterments well while keeping your arms wrapped in thin plastic, your hands hidden in the built-in paw mitts. White ears sat atop your head, a matching tail pulled through a hole in the back of suit that kept the plug from ever escaping. You still could walk, at least; latex stockings were nothing new, and both of you knew you wouldn’t be running around enough to do anything more than a light bruising to your knees. Something that appealed to most certainly you, and perhaps Rob as well.

He’d done you up as a show dog, though, and it was alien to your normal stray-mutt ways.

But perhaps that’s what made it so arousing. To be cherished and cared for, your hair still smelling of rich shampoo scented like strawberries and champagne. It had been relaxing, a strange alternation between pain and pleasure, of brutality and comfort, and even now as you opened your mouth with lowered lids, eyes almost magenta with the amount of pink on you, you felt entirely at ease in your place at his knees.

Being a dog was humiliating, degrading… But for you, it was also safe. It was a pleasure, a security that you would be cared for and your life was one of servitude and ease. It was what you wanted, and with someone you wanted, rather than those pissants who traded you about like something so easily thrown away.

He placed the head of his cock on your awaiting tongue, a soft click coming from him. You knew you had to wait to remain entirely still if you wanted your treat.

He stare up at him, eyes just a little wider, alert. He stares back at you from behind his shades, so dark in the fine suit he’s clad in, in such star contrast to the brightness of your body and garb.

And the moment is still and somehow perfect as you watch each other, relishing it for similar and yet entirely different reasons.

“Good girl.”

You wrap your lips around his head, sticking your tongue through to brush over the bottom of it, the metal of your tongue stud massaging the sensitive flesh of his frenum before the seal is made and you suck eagerly. You can hear his moans, but you don’t stop, reaching up to put the warm, smooth paws of your gloves on his hips as your head starts to move, as the sounds of slurping and sucking fill the air, mingling with the smell of him in the air; that rich, masculine smell that you love. You work your way down, bobbing up and down, taking a bit more each time, and when you hit a point where it feels like too much, you return to his head, sucking as your plush lips pull at the flare of it and your tongue tends to ever bit of flushed flesh.

“Mmm… You’re so good with that tongue, aren’t you? Such a good little pup.”

He pets your head, and you simply move forward, letting it shift to the back as you feel fingers knit into your hair. His hips move forward as his hand guides you, feeling the head slipping into the back of your throat with a soft, strangled cry. But you tolerate, no.

You love it.

You’re no longer in control, not that you ever really were, but now he commands your body along with your mind, your heart. You move as he wills it, pinning you to his body before pulling you up to breath before fucking your throat raw.

And all you can do is moan and whimper, and smile around his cock as tears start to crest on your lids.

He finally pulls you off with a grunt, hand quickly slapping to it. You open your mouth, tongue open, but he stops for one moment, panting with a grin.

“Do you want it?”

You don’t even need to think.

“Yes, Master.”

You hardly get the title out before you feel the first bit of viscous warmth hit your face, and your eyes closes as his moans fill your head and the warm of his seed coats your skin. You keep your mouth open, but don’t dare swallow, even as you feel it slide down your tongue, leaving an acrid taste in its wake. When he pets your head, you know then that you can swallow, licking your lips before using your paws to wipe away the bits from your eyes for licking them clean.

“Good girl. Very good girl,” he chimes, giving the bit of scalp behind your false ear a small scratch, “Who do you belong to?”

“I belong to you, Master.”

He smiles warmly, just a smirk, and you return it, diminutive in your own expression but hardly in your appreciation.

“That’s right. You’re mine.”