A Master Converted into a Puppy and Caged

Another very rich experience I had.

First Contact

The notification arrived on a Thursday evening. Profile with a torso photo, 39 years old, athletic build. In the description: "Active dominant. I'm interested in dog training and chastity. I'm looking for submissives for new experiences."

I reviewed his photos. Andrés. Athletic body, handsome face, trimmed beard—the kind of man who clearly knew what it was to dominate. But there was something in his profile that caught my attention: he mentioned chastity in a curious, almost personal way.

I wrote to him directly: "I see you're interested in the topic of dogs. Do you have a pet or do you just like training?"

He responded quickly: "I've had a few. I'm fascinated by seeing them submit, caged. There's something about that total surrender that really attracts me."

"And chastity? Do you also apply that to them?"

"Always. It's a fundamental part of control."

During the following days, the conversation flowed naturally, we talked about ourselves, he told me he was married—and as two dominants talking about techniques, experiences, philosophies of domination. But little by little, I started to notice something: his questions were becoming more personal, more curious about what it felt like to be the pet.

"Have you ever wanted to experience it from the other side?" I asked him directly.

There was a long pause. Then: "Yes. I've been fantasizing about it for years. I want to know what it feels like to be reduced, to be treated like a real dog. But I've never found someone I trust to do it with, besides I regularly use chastity on myself."

Interesting. A dominant who voluntarily caged himself. That wasn't common.

I smiled. A 39-year-old dominant, married, with experience, wanting to crawl like a puppy.

"Does your partner know?"

"No. He's away for work this week. It would be my only opportunity."

"Then come. I'll show you exactly what you're looking for."

We coordinated everything: Saturday afternoon, I would pick him up at the bus station. From there, straight to my house for his first time as a pet.

The Pickup

I arrived at the bus station exactly on time. I saw him get off the bus—backpack on his shoulder, tight jeans, gray t-shirt. He walked with that air of a confident man, used to giving orders. No one would suspect what he was there to do.

I approached him. "Andrés?"

"Yes, Master." He said it quietly, almost testing how it sounded to address someone like that.

"Follow me."

We walked to my car in silence. Once inside, I started the engine and asked him casually: "How was the trip?"

"Good, sir. Two hours but calm."

"Nervous?"

He swallowed saliva. "A bit. It's my first time doing this for real."

"Calm down. I'll take care of everything. You just have to obey."

T...