Brooklyn Gray: A Pup Named Bubbles

Brooklyn drops in wearing nothing but a collar, already halfway to the dog she wants to be. Tommy clips the chain on her neck and walks her in slow circles, letting the metal pull and settle. He names her Bubbles on the spot and tosses a fat silicone bone her way; she catches it between her teeth without breaking eye contact. Within minutes he’s got her heels, heels, stay, crawl. Every cue earns a tighter yank or a slap on her bare ass, the chain rattling like it’s part of the game. When he decides the pup needs more training, the bone goes, the chain stays. He feeds her cock instead, slams it down her throat until spit strings from her chin to the floor, then flips her over and drills her cunt while the links rattle against her back. Cane, flogger, open hand—he mixes them, stripes rising pink on her athletic frame, and Brooklyn just grins, drools, and keeps her tail up. Tommy doesn’t slow. He throat-fucks her again, deeper, harder, beard scraping her forehead while he holds her down, checking if the pup still wants to play. She does. She proves it by choking, swallowing, and begging without a single word. If she fails, it’s the pound. Right now she’s earning every extra minute on the floor.