By pwnedpuppy

“Fuck,” Pete grumbled as he slammed down the phone.  I could tell something was awry – his boots thumping as he came back downstairs to the playroom where I was locked up in the dog cage.

“Well, this is fucking great,” said Pete as he looked down on me.  “Some prick went and injured himself doing renos on his place last night,” he explained, “and now they’re calling me in to cover his shift.”

Pete was a big strong dude.  Six-foot-two, 225 – lots of big muscle.  Obligatory tribal tattoos.  Worked construction – in fact, the company he worked for was building a new housing development not far from where he lived.  Drove a big pickup – lifted a bit (but not too much.)  Played rec league hockey.  Lots of testosterone.  Just about to turn 30, and about five years older than me.  Tough but kind dom who is in to total power exchange.  Just my kind of guy.

I – on the other hand – was five-foot-seven.  160.  Lean muscle.  Worked IT.  Didn’t play sports but lived at the gym.  Laidback bro out in public, putty-in-your-hands sub with a pup streak in the playroom.  My name might be Jeremy, but when the collar goes on he calls me “Gunner.”  His kind of guy.

It was early Saturday on a nice spring day and I had just woken up in the cage when the phone rang after a decent night’s sleep (or as decent as it can be after being curled up in the cage.)  I live about two hours away, but make the trip most weekends to pup out with Pete.

I enjoy getting in to pup headspace with Pete.  He’s a good handler, we have fun together, and I really get a chance to play the part – tail plug, puppy muzzle mask, locking fist mitts, kneepads, ankle restraints, silicone cock cage and chain collar are all standard issue wear for me when I’m at Pete’s place.

Normally I drive, but this weekend I thought I’d take the train for a change of scenery.  And this is the first time Pete has had to bail because of something like this.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck,” Pete muttered, as I could see him pacing around, racking his brain to figure out what to do with me.  He lived alone, so there wasn’t any fear of roommates walking in and finding me.  But Pete also had a strict rule that he doesn’t let me roam the house freely if he’s not around.  And while it’s unlikely anything bad would happen while he was gone, he didn’t like the idea of leaving me caged all day.

Then, I saw the lightbulb go off.

“I’ll be right back, boy,” he said.

Unsure what was going to happen – and still somewhat sleepy – I laid in a curled up ball in the cage waiting for Pete’s return.

About five minutes later, Pete emerged down the stairs with his arms full, dropping everything on the floor by the cage.

“Here’s the deal, boy.  I can’t let you stay in the cage all day – it’s not safe to leave you here alone.  And you’re not gonna roam my house while I’m not home – I don’t need the neighbours to see a guy dressed like a pup pawing around.  And I’m not sending you back home because of some asshole who can’t stay out of the emergency room for a weekend.  So, I’m taking you to work with me.”

I gave a bit of a puzzled look as I glanced back at the clump of stuff I still couldn’t make out on the basement floor.

“Now, granted, I can’t have you roaming around the jobsite, so you need to be contained.  That’s where all of this stuff comes in.  Not a lot of time, so crawl out and I’ll explain as we go,” he said as he unlocked the door.

I came out on all fours and stayed put as he set about going to work.  First up, he set about getting the neoprene puppy muzzle I was wearing off my head.

“Remember, no sounds, Gunner,” he said as he unbuckled the muzzle.  I smiled and nodded.

In the muzzle’s place was a gas mask hood.  He deftly positioned the mask over my face, and zippered me in.  I found as he maneuvered the hood a little rubber tube plopped in to my mouth – a drinking tube.  Nice!  I could hear him screw something in to the intake for the drinking tube before he added a long hose to the air intake of the mask.

Next up, he strapped a Camelpak backwards to my naked torso, and connected the line from the drinking tube to the big 3 litre reservoir.  We had taken it hiking a few times before, but this was the first time he’d used it while we were playing  He cinched up the straps on the harness to make sure it was nice and tight with the backpack canteen covering my stomach.

Next, he walked over to me with a juice jug and positioned it under my cock.

“Piss, boy,” he said.  I had been holding it for a little bit since I woke up, so I had no problem letting it rip.  After I was done, he pulled the jug away from my cock, put a lid on it, and opened the door of the basement fridge.  I guess I know what I’m having to drink later.

“Almost done, boy,” he said as he walked behind me and grabbed the biggest item from the pile he’d dropped earlier.  He came back around in front of me as I saw what it was – an oversized hockey bag.

“Here’s the deal,” he said, “I could just leave you trussed up somehow in the cab my truck, but the chances of someone finding you are too high.  Plus, it’ll look weird if you’re just sitting there.  And frankly, I like the idea of you still being contained somehow.  So, you’re going inside this.  It’s my old hockey bag, and I’d been holding on to it because I figured I might have a use for it someday.”  He had a wry smile on his face as he explained.

He could see my eyes get wide through the lenses of the gas mask.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna vent the gas mask out a hole in the top, so you’ll be able to breathe fine.  Now, get your fucking ass in here – we don’t have a lot of time, boy.”

And so, still tail plugged, fist-mitted, cock-locked and knee-padded, I crawled toward the bag as he shook it open.  He opened the flap wider so I could position myself somewhat over top of it.

“That’s good, boy, hold still for a moment,” he said as I curled in to a ball partially on top of the bag.

It didn’t take long before he had pulled the sides up over top of me and I was now curled up inside the waterproofed nylon walls of the big bag.

Pete’s big hands fished inside the bag to grab the hose from the gas mask which – up until now – had been filling the hood with the rank smell of used hockey gear.  Truthfully, I loved the scent, especially knowing it was from Pete’s sweaty gear.  He grabbed the hose and pulled it up to the corner of the bag to check its length before dropping it back down, grabbing his Swiss army knife, and cutting a slit in the side of the bag.  He pulled the hose back up, pushed it through the slit, and sealed it in place with some duct tape – nice and firm, it wasn’t going anywhere.

“There,” Pete said, “you can breathe okay, Gunner?”

A torrent of fresh air came through the tube.  It was rather ingenious what he had done.

“Ruff! Ruff,” I barked through the gas mask – two for yes, one for no was our code.

“Goood boy,” Pete cooed as he scratched my ribcage since my belly wasn’t visible.  I could see a smile creep across his face and I knew that he realized this wouldn’t be a wasted day after all – I’d be bound up, he’d be earning overtime.

Finally, Pete grabbed some chain and a couple of padlocks from the floor and set about the d-rings on my fist mitts to the d-rings on my ankle restraints.  There was enough length to stretch a bit, but I wasn’t going to be getting upright any time soon.

“Okay, boy… see you in about nine hours,” he exclaimed as pulled the zipper of the hockey bag, plunging me in to darkness.

As the two zippers met, I could feel him fumbling around outside for a moment before I heard the sound that I’ve come to adore – the “click” of a padlock.  Not only did he bag me up, but he locked me in.  If I had any ideas of escaping before, they melted away with that snap.

With a slight grunt, he picked up the hockey bag by the hand straps.  Pete can easily lift me up – hell, he can bench his own weight and then some.  He hauled me up the stairs and plopped me on the floor by the garage door.  I then heard him head off to get his lunch ready and to get dressed for work.

As I waited, I slowly realized what was in store for the day.  A tiny puddle of sweat started to pool at my back – and I realized that this was going to be a bit of a sauna inside the bag.  Thankfully, I had a full tank of water with me, and I’d be able to slowly sip my way through it to keep hydrated.

About 20 minutes later, I heard Pete’s footsteps start back toward me.  I heard him grab his steel-toed work boots out of the closet and drop them on the floor.  One by one he laced them up, and once they were on, he playfully kicked the bag and laughed at me.  “How you doin’ in there, boy,” he asked.

“Woof! Woof,” I replied.

“Good boy.  Just so you know, you’re gonna be in the box of my truck all day, so I don’t want to hear any noises coming from there once we get to the jobsite.  No one can know you’re in there – you hear.”

“Woof! Woof,” I replied.

“Good.  Alright, here we go.”

He reached down and picked up the hockey bag in one hand, opening the garage door with the other.  The smell of the garage wafted in the hose of the gas mask.  He walked over toward the box of the truck, and put me down on the cold concrete of the garage floor as he opened the tailgate and rolled back the tonneau cover of the pickup truck’s box.

He then lifted me up and pushed me on to the bed of the truck, keeping the bag close to the tailgate of the truck.

“Can’t have you sliding around getting hurt,” he said, as he attached bungee cords from the various handles on the bag to the hooks inside the box of the truck.  “There… you’re still gonna slide around a bit, but not too much,” he exhaled after a bit of work getting everything in place.

“I’m pulling the cover over the bed of the truck,” he said. “This way, in case you squirm around a bit, no one will see the bag move.  Don’t worry – it’s not airtight, so you can breathe.  But keep the squirming to a minimum… I don’t want the truck rocking around.”  Pete was understanding, but firm.  This is what I loved about him.

With that, I heard the cover go back over the box and the tailgate of the truck slam shut.  I was contained – and the only person who knew I was in here was Pete.

A few minutes later, the truck started up, the garage door opened, and with a rumble we headed off to the jobsite.

It was bizarre being in the box of the truck as we rumbled along the roads in his neighbourhood.  I was Pete’s secret cargo.

A few minutes later, we showed up at the job site and the truck stopped.  I could hear Pete get out of the truck, his boots hitting the dirt as he landed out of the jacked up truck.

“Hey fuckers, how’s it goin’,” he said to the other guys who were at the worksite.

“What took you so long to get here – it’s not like you live across town,” one of the guys asked.

“Oh, just had some loose ends to tie up before getting over here,” he exclaimed as he banged on the truck box cover.

He leaned up against the truck as he talked with them for a few minutes before they decided to get to work.

“You boys head off, I’m just gonna grab my stuff from the truck here,” he said as the sound of boots faded off in to the distance.  He came around to the tailgate of the truck and opened it up.  A wave of fresh air flooded the box.

“Quietly now, boy,” he whispered, “you okay?  One grunt for no, two grunts for yes.”

“Mmmph. Mmmph,” I responded.

“Good boy.  Okay, have fun, and see you later,” he said as he grabbed his hardhat and a couple of tools from the box before slamming the tailgate shut.  Pete laughed menacingly as he walked away.  And reality sunk in for me – that I’d be here all day.

As I laid curled up in the hockey bag, I found myself fairly comfortable.  Breathing was easy with the gas mask on.  Even though the hood, the bag and the box cover muffled sounds a bit, you still heard things outside – the wind kicking up every once in a while, the sound of vehicles driving by, and when other guys were heading back to their trucks to grab something, you could hear them, too.

Something happens when you’re stowed away for any length of time – minutes seem to slip in to hours, and you don’t realize what time it is.  I dozed in and out of sleep, not ever really having a clue what time it was or how long I had slept for.  At other times, I’d count to keep my mind busy, just to something other than thinking about breathing in and out.  I also kept good tabs on my water intake through the day, sipping just enough to stay hydrated, even though the puddle of sweat in the bag was growing.  It might sound boring, but it was existing – and existing in Pete’s ownership.  I was good with that.

As the hours ticked away, I was sure that Pete would come back to check on me at some point.  And just when I heard boots that I thought were his… nothing.  It was like I didn’t exist at all.

I have no idea how long it was after Pete had gone to work, but I heard a number of boots coming back toward the truck and get in the cab.  Pete was not alone.  This would mean no check-up, no “how ya doin, Gunner.”  I was just his cargo on an otherwise normal day of work.  The engine fired up, the truck backed up, and it started to go down the street.

We traveled for a good twenty minutes or so, and aside from the rumble of the engine, I could hear more and more traffic noise.  Finally, I could hear us pull in to some sort of parking lot and felt the truck park.

“Why the fuck are we all the way back here, Pete,” one of the guys asked.

“Don’t want anyone to scratch up my baby,” Pete replied with a laugh as their boot steps faded away.

Best I can tell, he was going out for dinner with the boys from the jobsite.  That bastard!  I was starting to get kinda hungry by this point, and the thought of him chowing down made my stomach rumble.

I’m not sure how long they were in the restaurant, but eventually I heard boots and laughter starting to draw near the truck.  Not much was said as everyone got in, the engine revved up, and we took off.  Again, another twenty to thirty minutes of travel down what first sounded like busy city streets eventually faded away in to the quietness of suburbia.  Eventually, we came to a stop, but the motor was still running.  I guess Pete was dropping the guys off back at their truck at the jobsite.

As the truck doors slammed, we took off again before slowly pulling up a driveway.  The sound of a garage door clicked and I realized we were back at Pete’s place.  The truck lurched forward in to the garage, the engine shut off, and the garage door closed.  I could hear Pete go inside the house.

Dammit… was he going to leave me in here?

About half an hour passed when I heard the door open and Pete’s boot-clad footsteps come back toward the truck.  He opened the tailgate and rolled back the tonneau cover and started to unhook the bungee cords without saying a word.  I was cautious not to make a sound for fear of being punished.

Once the bag was freed, he lifted it up off the truck box, and set it down on the cold concrete floor of the garage before closing the tailgate and rolling back the box cover.  He picked up the bag and marched in to the house and downstairs in to the playroom.

With a click, the padlock was taken off the zippers of the hockey bag, and Pete slowly unzipped the cover of the bag.  As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could see a broad smile across his face.

“Hey, Gunner.  How ya doin, boy,” he asked as he massaged my still-hooded head.

“Woof!  Woof,” I replied – relieved to see his face.  As I widened my gaze, I realized he was still clad in his work clothes including his Carhartt overalls and dusty hoodie.  He even had his dusty work boots on.

“Good boy.  I’m so proud of you for making it through the day,” he exclaimed as he scratched my rib cage – my belly still covered by the Camelpak.

“You know, I kind of like you all bagged up like you were today.  We might have to make this part of our routine.  Who knows, I might pick up some more overtime weekend shifts just so you can come along for the ride!”  I gulped at the thought.  I could get used to this!

He reached in the bag and detached the hose from the gas mask, leaving it still taped inside the bag.  He then gently helped me out of the bag, reminding me that “puppies are meant to be on all fours,” so I didn’t get any crazy ideas of standing up on two legs.  The chains locking my wrists to my ankles were removed so I could move a little more freely.

He then unhooked the Camelpak from my torso, unzipped the gas mask hood, and removed both from my body.  I was standing on all fours, uncovered and unmuzzled.  He crouched down in front of my face and I looked up at him as he tussled my hair and scritched my ears with a big smile on his face.  “Good boy… you’re such a good boy!”  I stayed as he walked away to grab a blanket to put over top of me to keep me from getting cold, and then went upstairs.  I knew better than to follow him, and stayed put until he returned.

About ten minutes later, he came down the stairs – still dressed for work and booted – with two dog bowls in hand.  He put the bowls out of sight and came back in to my field of vision.

“Hey Gunner, good boy.  I’ve got dinner for you, but before you get to eat, how about cleaning up my boots a little bit?”

This was new territory.  I had never licked Pete’s boots before, but there was a first time for everything.  So, I got in close, and started to lap up the hard brown leather.  They were dusty, but thankfully not muddy.  Surprisingly, they didn’t taste too bad – and the grittiness of the dust wasn’t too gross.  I guess it’s baby steps, right?

After a few minutes of licking, he tussled my hair, and grabbed me by the collar.  “That’s a good boy,” he said as he scratched my head.  “Okay, time to eat.”

And with that, he led me over to the dog bowls.  In one was water, in the other was a mish-mash of people food.

“The boys were good enough to let me take their table scraps home for my dog,” he said. “There were some half eaten racks of ribs, a little bit of veg, and a tiny bit of mashed potatoes.  It’s quite the feast if you ask me,” he grinned.

It had come to this – not only was I playing the role of Pete’s dog, but I’d eat like one, too, this weekend.

“Hurry up and eat, boy.”

And with that, Pete left me to gnaw on the bones his fellow construction workers had already chewed on.  It wasn’t a lot of food, but it was enough to settle my growling stomach – even if it was what was on the plates of the guys he worked with.

About fifteen minutes later, Pete came back, freshly showered, and looking like the alpha male I needed with stubble covering his square jaw, and his hair slightly mussed.  He’d traded in the Carhartt’s for oversized grey sweatpants (like you’d see on the muscle bros at the gym) and a tight Under Armor shirt stretched across his torso.  He crouched down to assess how clean my bowl was.

“Not bad, Gunner.  Not bad.  Okay, I have a treat for you,” he said excitedly, showing me the Camelpak again.  He clipped it on to me, this time attaching it the proper way with the pack on my back.

“Let’s go upstairs, boy!”

I scampered up the stairs behind him and followed him to the living room.  He plopped himself down in the big comfy leather sofa while I curled up in a ball at his feet.  We’ve spent many Saturday nights like this.

He bent down to make sure the Camelpak spigot was in my mouth.

“Whenever you get thirsty, just give that a suckle.  You’ll enjoy it.”

He leaned back in to the couch, hit the remote, and flipped around until he found a hockey game he wanted to watch.

A few minutes later, I give the spigot a suckle.  It was cold, and it was salty.  Then I remembered what Pete had me pee in to earlier in the day.  While he watched his team on TV, I’d be leisurely recycling – at my own pace.  He was an evil genius.

“Finish it all up before the end of the game, otherwise you won’t be a happy puppy,” Pete warned.  It was the start of the second period – I had to get a move on.

Luckily, I had finished up the Camelpak by the time the game ended.  Satisfied with the score on TV and the emptiness of the Camelpak, Pete chased me back downstairs to get ready for bed.

Off came the Camelpak, on went the muzzle, and in to the cage I went.  The “clunk” of the padlock let me know I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Alright, pup.  Have a good sleep,” he said as he bounded up the stairs.  The lights turned out, and another day as Pete’s pup was in the books – a milestone day.

 

THE END