Training in the kennels

You awaken to the gentle touch of the Princess's fingers tracing lazy circles on your cheek. The room is dimly lit, casting long shadows across her serene face. "Rise, my pet," she whispers, her voice a commanding melody that sends shivers down your spine. "It's time for your next lesson." You were shocked that you didn't hear her open the door.

You blink away the remnants of sleep, your body still heavy with exhaustion from the night before. The Princess smiles, her eyes glinting with a mischievous spark. "Today, you will learn to embrace humiliation and servitude. To lose yourself in it completely."

She stands, her gown flowing around her like liquid silver. "The kennel-master will assist you with this. You have already been acquainted, of course." Her laughter rings out, a sound both cruel and captivating. "Come, let us not keep him waiting." The Princess leads you back to his room down the hallway.

The kennel-master awaits within, his broad frame silhouetted against the flickering light of a hearth. He approaches, his steps measured and assure. "Your Majesty," he rumbles, his voice deep and oddly shy. "Thank you for giving me this opportunity."

"Of course," the Princess replies, her tone indulgent. "You did a good job with the last one, despite your ****."

He blushed as she left the room.

The kennel-master, with a playful yet authoritative gleam in his eye, reaches for the leash hanging off your collar. His fingers dance around your neck, feeling out your metal collar and driving lust into your body. "Now, let's see how well you can move like a true pet," he chuckles, his voice low and commanding.

He leads you around the room, your body instinctively crawling on hands and knees, following his every step. "Hah," he exclaims, his tone approving. "You already know how to crawl like a dog rather well." The humiliating compliment sends shivers of shame and lust down your body.

He tosses a plush toy across the room, its bright colors contrasting sharply with the dim light. "Fetch," he commands, his voice firm yet encouraging. You dart forward, surprising yourself with your own energy, your movements swift and obedient, retrieving the toy and returning it to his outstretched hand. He rewards you with a pat on the head, his touch gentle yet firm.

"Who's a good dog?" He asked, his fingers dancing over your chest and scratching your head. "Do you like being praised? Turn over like a dog." You follow his commands, rolling on your back like a wolf at play. Each touch of his fingers sends shivers of warmth through your body.

"Good girl," he said, and you instinctively place your head through his patting hands. They are large, rough, and warm, and for the first time in forever you don't just feel lustful and owned, but warm and loved.

"Now, let's hear you pant and bark," he instructs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Embarrassment washes over you, but beneath it, a thrill of submission stirs within. You mimic the sounds of a dog, your breaths coming fast and shallow, your barks clumsy yet enthusiastic. You again surprise yourself, your draconic accent making its best attempt to mimic the canine sound.

The kennel-master laughs, a deep rumble of pleasure that fills the room. "Good girl," he praises, his approval sending a surge of warmth through your body. The humiliation of the acts blends with the arousal of obedience, creating a potent mix that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

As he continues to lead you through these humiliating yet thrilling exercises, you find yourself lost in the role, your mind and body responding to his every command with increasing fervor. The boundary between dragon and pet blurs, replaced by a profound sense of connection and surrender. The absurdity of the situation is not lost on you, but it only makes you more excited.

Over the next hours, he teaches you the basics of pet play: how to sit, stay, and fetch; how to respond to simple commands with enthusiasm and obedience. Each lesson is punctuated by praise and rewards, his kindness disarming your initial reservations.

As the day wears on, you find yourself sinking deeper into the role, your mind and body attuned to his every word. The kennel-master watches you with a satisfied smile, his approval fueling your growing confidence.

Finally, he calls a halt to the training. "Well done," he praises, his voice warm and approving. "You've learned quickly." He strokes your back again, hand reaching your tail. You feel an inclination to close your eyes and brush against him, becoming nothing more but a receptacle for praise.

But he guides you to a nearby bench, his hands gentle as he helps you bend over it. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through your veins. "Relax," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm.

His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour with a reverence that leaves you breathless. Then, slowly, deliberately, he enters you, his movements measured and controlled. You gasp, the sensation overwhelming yet strangely comforting. The kennel-master holds you close, his breath hot against your ear.

As he thrusts deeper, harder, you surrender to the wave of pleasure building within you. Your body arches, your nails digging into the wood beneath your palms. He seems to forget the play of master and pet, wordlessly thrusting into you as his hands cover every inch of your body.

You whimper as he grips your waist like a mere instrument for his pleasure. After all his love and praise, you are still reduced to a toy for his use. You hear his soft moans as he varies in rhythm, as if he is still taking care not to hurt you. Deep within you, the contrast between his innocence and the opportunity he could not deny to ravage you sparked a mix of amusement and heart-fluttering delight.

With a final, powerful thrust, he claims you, his release washing over you like a tidal wave. You cling to him, your body shuddering with the **** of your own climax.

As the waves recede, you collapse against the bench, your mind reeling from the intensity of the experience. The kennel-master strokes your head his voice a tender murmur in your ear. "You did well," he praises, his approval palpable and sweet. "Very well indeed," he said, wrapping an arm tightly around you as you muzzle into his comforting chest.