Pup Maxx

a good boy in Chicago.

  • Connor had been serving Master Kyle for a little under a year. They had first began communicating online; Connor had read his Master’s profile and found the description to be quite alluring.

    He couldn’t remember who had messaged first, but it was probably him, since his Master was usually far too busy for such things. But their conversations quickly turned both sexual and sensational — Connor soon felt some deep connection, some primal instinct that just seemed to lure him to this man.

    It wasn’t just that Master Kyle’s desires and fantasies seemed so hot, so sexual, so perfect for him. The man seemed to understand him in a way that no one else ever had. For the first time, Connor felt seen. It made him excited and afraid. It made him feel powerful and vulnerable.

    At first, their dynamic was slow, gentle, limited by what little time they had to chat and whatever was possible through the medium. Connor would get little orders throughout the day.

    Do ten pushups, now, wherever you are. Find a spot that’s out of the way but where you’re clearly visible to everyone out and about, strip off your shirt, and take a picture. The next time you need to pee, go into the stall, and hold it for a full five minutes before you let go.

    Connor loved every second of it.

    It had been a few months before their relationship took a turn. Connor returned home one day to find a small package sitting in front of his door. There was no mailing label, no sticker, no markings. Just a brown box sealed with a strip of tape.

    His phone had run as soon as he picked it up — the shrill ping that signaled this wasn’t just another notification, but one from Master Kyle. Got my present, boy?

    I found an unmarked box at my door. Is that what you mean, Sir?

    Yes. It’s a gift and a proposition. If it’s what you want, this is the next step to ownership. Let me know what you think after you’ve opened it.

    Moments later, there it was, sitting on Connor’s dining table: a chastity cage. The first of what would be a series of cages he’d wear. Master Kyle had included a lock in the box, but no key.

    Connor had thought about it for hours. For a while, he just sat there, staring at the cage, picking it up and running his fingers over the smoothed edges and the polished black surface. He remembering putting the pieces together to see how it would fit, and then letting the cage come apart again so he could ponder his decision.

    He had seen cages like these before, and he knew that he could get himself out of them if he was soft enough and willing to put up with a little bit of twisting.

    But that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t the question that had been posed to Connor. It was about the commitment, the determination, the question posed by then-Sir Kyle about what Connor wanted from him, from the relationship. Was he willing to surrender?

    Yes, Connor had known his answer from the moment he saw the cage. But admitting that it was true — that it was what he really wanted — took a lot longer. He had to settle down the voices in his head warning him that this was a huge risk. That it was dangerous. That he could get hurt. That, perhaps, this surrender of power, of control, was something he wasn’t ready for.

    It was four hours before he picked up his phone again.

    I think yes. I’m ready.

    The reply was immediate. Then put on the cage, boy. From now on, you’re to refer to me as Master. Got it?

  • In pup play, it can be really hard to find the line between the human and the pup. Just like how every person is different, every pup has their own traits and quirks, and you’ll need to learn what those are for your pup. But there are some things that almost all pups will enjoy, so have fun — with their consent, of course!

    1. Pet them regularly. You don’t even need to have a reason. That they’re there is good enough.
    2. Give them a treat. When they’ve been good. Or when you need to cheer them up. Or when you need cheering up.
    3. Help them find their spot. It’s the place in the house that’s their place. It’s where they go to rest if they’re tired, to wait if they’re bored, and to hide if they’re scared. It could be anywhere — a corner, under a table, inside a closet.
    4. Give them a belly rub. Lots and lots of belly rubs.
    5. Clear out a space with plenty of direct sunlight and have them nap in it.
    6. Place some soft pillows and blankets under your desk, so they can curl up by your feet as you work.
    7. Give them a quick scritch as you walk past. And maybe another one. And another. And one more.
    8. Put their food in a dog bowl, and watch with delight as they get all messy while trying to eat it. Have them eat meals on the floor as you sit at the table.
    9. Keep their water bowl always full and fresh, so they’re well-hydrated and happy.
    10. Tell them they’re a good boy/girl/pup. Say it when they make you proud. Or when they accomplish something really hard for them. Or just because they are so good.
    11. Hand them random objects and tell them to hold it in their mouths. Watch as they try with the more cumbersome things.
    12. Announce it’s nap time, and have them take a nap — no matter what’s going on.
    13. Let them choose where to sleep at night. On the floor, at the foot of the bed, or all snuggled up with you. They’ll choose what makes them happiest.
    14. Leave them something that smells like you, like a shirt, if you’re going to be away for a while. It’ll help them stay calm as they start missing you terribly.
    15. Keep the door open just a little bit when you go to another room, so they can follow you there, too.
    16. Put a name tag on their collar. Write your contact info on the back, so they’ll always be able to find you if they get lost.
    17. Listen to their many, many, many noises. Barks, growls, whines. They all mean something different, so take the time to learn them.
    18. Tell them when you’re sad, angry, or upset. Even if it’s not about them. Especially when it’s not about them. They can sense something’s off and will get worried that you don’t like them anymore.
    19. Yank their leash occasionally, just enough for the leash to be tight. It reminds them you’re there, you care about them, and they can always follow the leash to find you again.
    20. Finally: Accept their love and affection. As a pup, everything in their world is about you. Respect the scale of that commitment, and they’ll be your loyal companion forever.
  • For me, one of the lures of subspace is how my mind shuts down and I’m able to finally relax.

    My ability to do complex, higher-functioning mental tasks is basically turned off. I can’t handle a hypothetical, or evaluate a situation, or make simple logical leaps to come to an otherwise-obvious conclusion. Like Alexa or Siri, I can parse your words, but I can’t process the context or give you answers to questions unless you’ve phrased them in a particular way.

    I’m not sure if many Doms know this. And maybe it’s just me, and not something that generalizes to other submissives. But there’s a huge difference between open-ended questions (“What happens next?”) and leading questions (“You know what happens next, right?”).

    With leading questions, I can figure out what the “right” answer should be, even with my limited faculties whilst drifting in subspace. However, open questions cause me to freak out a little (and can destroy the headspace) because I can’t figure out the answer — and then I feel like I’m disappointing my Dom.

    Doms: Please, could you phrase your questions in such a way that it implies the answer? Yup, that’s another leading question — lots and lots of questions like this, please.

    Subs: Is this something that you also experience? What is it like for you?

    A motivational quote on a sign with eyeglasses in front, sitting on a wooden table outdoors.
  • Connor was washing a small plate when he heard the whirring. The sound of the garage door opening was unmistakable. His Master was home.

    He quickly dried his hands on the dish towel and scurried over to the door. He only had a few seconds to get into position. Master never rushed to get out of the car, but the garage was only so big and being unprepared when his Master opened the door was not an option.

    The boy made it to the door in record time, and let himself fall onto the ground, knees crashing into the gray-blue tile. Owwww. In the next few seconds, Connor assumed the position. Shoulders back. Chest forwards. Eyes on the ground. Hands behind, just by the hips. Kneeling. Presenting. Just as his Master ordered. Just the way Master liked it.

    Then, he waited.

    It might have been less than a minute before the door actually opened, but to Connor it felt like an eternity. Every moment seemed to drag on forever, time slushing from one second to the next, as Connor waited for his Master to open the door. The deafening silence of the house did little to drown out the noises in Connor’s head. Master is back. Master is home. Master is safe. Master is —

    “Boy,” his Master growled, his voice slicing through Connor’s thoughts.

    Connor said nothing. He knew better from his training. He just stayed there, kneeling on the floor, letting the cold air from the garage rush over his naked body. The chill caused the hairs on the boy’s arms and neck to prick up, staying taunt and upright even as his Master ran his callused hands over the skin.

    After a few moments, his Master stepped back, his tall figure towering over the much-smaller boy.

    “Good. Now get to it, slave.”

    Connor didn’t need to be told twice. In the blink of an eye, he was crouched over his Master’s dress shoes, licking every surface until it was spotless. Connor did the left shoe first, ensuring he got as much dirt off as possible — not that there was much dirt to begin with — before moving onto the right. He used his tongue to spread a bit of the saliva over the top of each shoe, so the water could gleam in the light. Just as his Master liked it.

    The foot pulled away. Connor’s job was done. He sat back up, still silent, careful to keep this eyes on the floor and avoiding catching his Master’s gaze.

    “Report, boy,” his Master thundered.

    “The laundry’s all done, folded, and put away, Master,” said Connor, crisply. “The kitchen and bathroom floors have been vacuumed and mopped; the living room dusted; and most of the dishes are drying in the dishwasher. It was just washing the hand-wash-only items when you returned, Master.”

    His Master didn’t reply immediately. In the silence that followed, Connor couldn’t tell if his Master was pleased or disappointed. The boy hoped that his Master would be satisfied with that amount of work. But you couldn’t be sure. Master had high standards, and Connor knew he would raise them as soon as he felt his slave houseboy was getting complacent.

    Was he going to be praised? Punished? Or just ignored? Connor’s heart was beating with so much anxiety that the boy swore it was going to break out of his chest.

    Then: “Good job, slave boy. Get back to it.”

    Connor scurried back to the kitchen in a flash. “Yes, Master!”

    Praised. Definitely praised.

  • own (2 of 3), verb
    owned; owning; owns
    transitive verb

    a) to have or hold as property : POSSESS
    b) to have power or mastery over
    to acknowledge to be true, valid, or as claimed : ADMIT

    I think I’ve always been lonely. Or, rather, I can’t think of a memory in which I didn’t feel alone in some way.

    The idea that there will be someone — that there will always be someone — who wants to spend time with me, to hang out with me, to celebrate with me and to just be with me is… incredibly foreign.

    So I’m pretty sure that’s why the concept of ownership appeals to me so much. Here is someone, an Owner, who has consciously and deliberately chosen to own me; to take control, yes, but also to take responsibility, to share in the successes and to ground the failures.

    In a nutshell, by Him being in my life, I am no longer as alone.

    I imagine that I could emphasize with other pups, assuming we could converse. I love that moment when a dog realizes that they’ve been adopted — that they’re joining a loving family which will feed them well, keep them warm, give them pets and hugs, throw a ball for them to fetch and hook on a leash for them to walk.

    I envy that moment. I yearn for that moment.

    A power exchange dynamic like Master/slave, Handler/pet, or Owner/object, might seem incredibly one-sided from an outside perspective — or several perspectives, really. After all, the Dominant has so much power. And a more extreme dynamic might mean that the sub’s entire identity is subsumed into that of the Dominant: there is no independent personhood, just being the Dom’s “thing”Insert appropriate submissive role/position/identity here.

    But the truth is, my Owner would be mine as much as I would be His.

    He’s the one whose orders I obey above all else. He’s the one I know I can trust more than anybody else. He’s the one who feeds me well, keeps me warm, gives me pets and hugs, throws a ball for me to fetch and hooks on a leash for me to walk.

    For he is the Owner. My Owner.