"Puppy, sit," the lady in the lab coat orders, pointing to a spot between two chairs. You've never been in this room before, but it is far more comfortably appointed than the harsh clinical rooms, or your cramped cage.
Despite the stressful novelty of the room, you take comfort in obeying the instruction. You shift from a crawl to kneeling on the ground. You can't imagine a life without someone to instruct you. All you need to do is what you're told. No worries or complex concerns in your-
silly little head.
"Good puppy," the familiar stern voice says. Her fingers ruffle through your hair, affirming what a good job you're doing. You can't help grinning and letting out a little contented squeak. Getting praised always makes your mind all fuzzy. It makes you-
desperate to do as you're told. It makes you all needy for attention. The fingers trailing down to scratch the back of your neck feel like electric. You miss out on the adorable blanked out expression on your face. You miss out on freedom and complex thoughts too, but who cares?
After a few moments, the door opens and the fingers in your hair pull away. For a moment, you notice the fact that you just started to drool slightly, but your attention is quickly pulled to a woman stepping in, your girlfriend, no, your *ex*-girlfriend.
You feel a flash of anger for just a moment, before it is suppressed by all the lovely lessons and conditioning you've been given.
A surge of guilt wells up. You can't believe you were possibly angry at your owner. She's beautiful, wonderful, and utterly perfect.
The best owner a weak little pet could hope for. You know in your mind, body, and heart that you are hers. She knows what is best. She owns you. She is the most important thing in your life. You are her pet.
The woman hesitates at the door, seeming almost skittish, before the-
lady in the lab coat beckons her to have a seat.
The pair speak for a while, but it's hard to follow what they're saying. Something about somebody forgetting who they are and being turned into an obedient puppy. You know it's nothing for you to be concerned with.
Eventually, after so, so long, the lady in the lab coat passes your leash over to your owner. You rush over to her seat, excitedly clinging to her leg and nuzzling your face into her. Her scent is utterly intoxicating. You're not sure how you lived without it.
An excited "good puppy!" dismisses any lingering thoughts in the back of your mind that you were a real person, and after you broke up with your owner she brought you here against your will, and that this place broke your mind until you became a weak willed pet.
All of that would be insane. Your owner couldn't possibly do something so mean. And you had always been a puppy. Sure a lot of the details don't make sense in your head, but as you've been constantly reminded that just proves that you are nothing but a puppy.
Soft fingers run through your hair as your owner continues to praise you. "Hey puppy, do you wanna go home now? I've got lots of treats for you because you've been such a brave pet." Somehow, her touch is even better than anyone else's. Soothing, yet also exciting.
You can only squeak and yip excitedly in affirmation. You continue to cling onto her leg as she tries to stand. It's just been so very long since you got to be this close to her.
"C'mon, puppy. Time for walkies. I promise I'll never ever send you away again.-
You're my perfect pet." Your owner gives your leash a tug. Reluctantly, you slink back down onto all fours. You know your owner knows best. You know good puppies do as they're told. And you are such a good puppy, aren't you?
Collars.
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"Wake it." Your Handler speaks in a cold tone that's deep, yet feminine.
Stimulants are injected through one of the cybernetic plugs on your arm, forcing you out of your dazed trance. You had been dreaming of a life before all of this.
You were happy, you think. Though, you're not sure if it's even real, or something your lobotomised brain has invented to give you the slightest bit of peace.
Despite your mind and senses focusing, your body remains unresponsive. It's not unusual.
The amount of tech in your body makes disabling your motor functions as simple as flipping a switch.
"My dear little Hound. I thought you had learned not to fail me, but apparently you need another lesson." Your Handler's voice cuts through the remaining fog in your mind.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," Amelia says softly to the little foxgirl curled up in her arms as her eyes begin to flutter open. Her fuzzy ears just start to twitch.
"Gmornin mama," Zoey mumbls out amidst the cutest contented sleepy noises. Those soft little vocalisations take on a hint of breathiness as Amelia begins softly scratching the little fox's hair.
Amelia enjoys the comfy fox audio for a few minutes, until Zoey starts to properly wake up. Or at least, until she decides to curl up against her mama and close her flickering eyelids once more. So in short, not properly waking up in the slightest.
The nurse tugs at your leash, yet you just barely stop yourself pawing forward.
"Puppy. I don't want to punish you again, but I will.-
Come on, let's stretch out those sore limbs of yours." She tugs the leash again. This time, you comply. You're not keen for a repeat of that shock so soon.
You go to at least say some spiteful retort, or expression of frustration. All that leaves your mouth is a puppy-like whine, followed by a few little yips. It's the dammed collar again. You know what you want to say. You go to say it. Your body just does not cooperate.
"Come here." Owner's voice is harsh, yet quiet. I know I'm in trouble. Either I've done something wrong, or they're in a cruel mood. Not that it will change the end result.
I paw my way over to their feet, kneeling down between their legs. Their hand brushes down my cheek, and I cast my eyes down, not daring to look them in the eye. After a few tender moments, their hand rests around my throat.
Just having it there makes me feel weak. Submissive. Owned.
I can feel their gaze on me. Observing me. Judging me. I feel needy and desperate just being here in front of them. Completely helpless. Just the way I like it.
Mommy feeling super guilty the next morning when she sobers up. She doesn't talk about it, or what she did, but you can tell by the way she avoids looking at you.
She takes you out shopping to buy you treats and a new stuffie.
Later in the day, you see her pouring away the alcohol she keeps under the sink. You can hear her softly crying while she does so. She quietly tells herself she will never ever drink again, never ever hurt you again.
Before you go to bed in the evening, you go to a hidden spot in your closet. Feeling extremely guilty, you pull out a bottle of vodka. Sneaking to the kitchen, you half-hide it on the counter, making it seem like she just missed it.
Taking a cutie clothes shopping. Helping them into and out of outfits in the dressing room. Getting increasingly touchy and listening to their cute noises.
Acting completely innocent as they start to whine. "What is it, sweetie? Mommy is just trying to help you find an outfit."
Continuing to play innocent until they're forced to admit what they want.
"Ohhhh, someone's all excited? Goodness, what a slutty little thing you are, getting so horny in public. Well, I can't have you being this frustrated when we have so much to do today."
Telling them to turn around, and pulling some lube out of my bag (because of course I came prepared), then pulling the clothes they're trying on aside and lubing them up.
"Be quiet for me, baby. We don't want anyone to overhear how much of a slut you are."