The Flower Dog

Six months after you received your floppy blonde dog ears, your mother sent Dorothy a very special invitation.

She was getting remarried.

Not to Elena.

To Victoria — Elena and Dorothy’s own futa mother. A tall, regal, silver-haired futa in her mid-50s with an even more imposing presence and a cock that made both her daughters look small. The wedding was to be held at a luxurious private estate with a beautiful garden overlooking the sea.

Your mother had one request:

She wanted you — Slutcunt — to be the flower dog.

The Wedding Day

You were dressed (if it could be called that) specially for the occasion.

A custom white harness with delicate lace trim wrapped around your torso, leaving your branded skin, pierced nipples, and locked cage completely exposed. A large white bow sat on the base of your fluffy tail. Your floppy blonde dog ears had tiny white flowers clipped to them. A new tag on your collar read:

“Flower Dog – Property of Dorothy”

Dorothy led you on a long white satin leash as you crawled down the aisle on all fours, tongue lolling, drool dripping onto the white petal-strewn path.

Guests gasped and whispered as you passed. Phones were out. Many had seen you at the dog park before, but seeing you like this — floppy ears bouncing, tail wagging, cage leaking with every crawl — was something else entirely.

At the end of the aisle stood your mother in a stunning ivory gown… and Victoria, towering and elegant in a tailored white suit, her massive bulge clearly visible.

Your mother smiled warmly when she saw you.

“Oh, look at my sweet little flower dog,” she cooed.

You sat back on your haunches like a good bitch, tail wagging, floppy ears perked up, and barked happily.

“Arf! Arf-arf!”

Victoria looked down at you with cool, appraising eyes.

“So this is the boy my daughters traded for,” she said, voice rich and commanding. “He makes a much better dog.”

Dorothy handed your leash to your mother for the ceremony.

During the entire wedding, you stayed right beside the bride and groom — sitting obediently, tail wagging, tongue hanging out. Every time the officiant spoke, your mother would reach down and pet your floppy ears.

When they kissed, your mother looked down at you and whispered:

“Thank you for being such a good trade, baby.”

After the ceremony, during the reception, Dorothy let guests use you.

Several dogs were brought over and allowed to mount the “flower dog” right there on the grass while guests watched and clapped. You barked and whimpered happily as you were knotted again and again, your floppy ears bouncing with every thrust, tail wagging like crazy.

Your mother and Victoria watched from the head table, Victoria’s hand resting possessively on your mother’s thigh.

At one point, Victoria crooked a finger at you.

You crawled over, cum still leaking down your thighs, and pressed your face between her legs under the table. She fed you her massive cock while continuing to talk to guests, using your throat like a casual sleeve.

Your mother smiled proudly the entire time.

That Night

Back at Dorothy’s house, after the reception, she had you curled up at her feet while she sipped wine.

“You were the perfect flower dog today,” she praised, scratching behind your floppy ears. “Everyone loved you.”

Your tail wagged happily.

Dorothy leaned down and kissed the top of your head.

“Your mother is married to my mother now… which makes her your grandmother by marriage. Isn’t that funny?”

You tilted your head, floppy ears flopping cutely, and gave a soft “Arf?”

Dorothy laughed.

“Don’t think too hard, Slutcunt. Just wag your tail and be a good dog. That’s all you need to do for the rest of your life.”

You barked once, contentedly, and rested your head on her lap, tongue lolling, drool soaking her dress.

The wedding was over.

Your old family was gone.

You were now officially the family pet — the flower dog, the neighborhood bitch, the pack’s favorite toy.

And you had never been happier.