Work Text:
Sir glanced down just in time to see the creeping motion of the paw sneaking away from the keyboard, idly sliding up a bare leg and towards the dripping parts between the pup’s legs.
Sir clicked his tongue in disappointment, just as easily shifting his hand from the computer mouse to the plastic clicker trainer.
He only had to hit it once, listening for the defeated whimper and whine of the pup between his legs. Sir hummed to himself, pleased, as the sound of its typing resumed, the pup ignoring its distractions and obediently continuing its work.
Although it wasn’t the brightest pup, it was obedient.
Still, it hadn’t been more than five minutes since he had last had to use the clicker. It had made good time in the beginning of the session, holding out for half an hour with only a few clicks, but now its progress seemed to dip. He wasn’t sure if it was simply getting more desperate over time, or if it’s dumb pup brain simply forgot orders that quickly.
That was the point of the training though.
It didn’t matter how often or how repetitive Sir had to do it, as long as the training made its way into the malleable little brain of the pups that he looked after.
He took his job seriously, after all.
And it was worth it in the end, returning happy, obedient pups to their satisfied owners. He was a firm believer that all puppies could be good puppies if given the proper support, and this pup was no exception to that rule.
So the pup spent long, long hours sitting with Sir in his office, never too far from the his watchful gaze.
Its legs were spread wide, propped open by Sir’s gleaming work shoes, and a small, heavily moderated laptop sat on the floor with it. He allowed the puppy to decorate it as it saw fit, and it wasted no time putting on all sorts of cute stickers from a basket that Sir kept stocked for rewarding good behavior. The colorful cover of it as well as the size stood in stark contrast to Sir’s own monitor.
When Sir was working--and thus, when the pup was supposed to also be batting away at the keyboard--Sir didn’t allow any distractions. If he didn’t hear the clatter of keys, one sharp snap from the clicker brought the pup’s attention back.
Sir didn’t allow any wandering paws or any unmandated breaks. And there were breaks.
He wasn’t cruel, after all.
But touching drippy, desperate puppy parts was not a need. He’d seen pups denied for years, weaned off touch until they could be talked to an edge instead. As much as their poor, dumb little brains would have them believe, touching themselves was not necessary.
The pup would have to learn to live with that distraction. It had to learn how to focus .
Sir continued his own work, stuff that went over the head of any pup but was important to him.
He could feel the pup’s thighs shuddering against his feet, desperate to close to provide the pup with some much needed attention.
The pup whimpered and whined, mostly to itself since it knew better than to beg during work hours. It just softly cried to itself, panting and shifting its hips, spread puppy parts all achey and sweet.
After hours was the time for play.
Sir had a strict routine for the pup, plenty of buzzing toys and soft teasing feathers. He would snap on blue latex medical gloves and use toothbrushes to scrub and play with the soft, vulnerable holes and quivering little cock.
The pup would cry and scream, thighs clamped open and restrained to the corner’s of Sir’s bed, bound tightly so that it couldn’t resist. Hour after hour, the clock ticking away on the wall, Sir would carefully tease and coax the drooling pup until it was an overstimulated mess, passed out in the puddle of its own juice, tears drying on its face while its hole continued to drip.
It was important to never let the pup cum.
That was a reward saved for rare, special moments.
Sir would clean the pup up, carefully dabbing around its hole and watch, half amused, at the little cock standing at attention.
Just one more touch would do it, would push the pup over the edge. Of course, if Sir only used one touch, then it would just be a half-satisfying, more-frustrating-than-anything ruin. The pup would sob and wail and pitch a tantrum at the loss, as its holes and cock flexed desperately, panting like the rest of it as the pleasure slipped away.
And then Sir would have to ice it down and remind it that silly things like orgasms and pleasure weren’t always for pups that were so needy.
Sir glanced down between his legs, raising an eyebrow.
The sharp, plastic click of the clicker made the wandering paw curl, darting back to the keyboard.
The pup squirmed, mewling, paws shaking over the keys as it fought against the ever demanding distraction of its drooling parts.
Focus.
Sir demanded it, and the pup would do it.
While he worked, so did the pup.
No distractions.
Not even achy, desperate, throbbing, dripping, demanding ones.
A whine of distress.
Another click.