You look down at the floor like 30 feet below it seems. You look up
at the ceiling soaring high overhead. You huddle on the warm palm for
fear of falling. You look around nervously. It's the same shop, just
bigger - a lot bigger. There is another person here too. You are
level with his belly. You look up and see a billboard size version of
Richie. He's in your Econ class. He's dressed kind of artsy in a
too-tight t-shirt, torn jeans and with lots of colorful wristbands and
a leather and bead choker. He's standing next to a sink that's full of
suds.
He extends his hands and the barber hands you to him. His hands smell
soapy. You sit on his hand and cling to his shirt, as he gently pets
you with his giant hand.
"There boy. No need to be excited, Richie's only going to give you a
bath."
"Don't be surprised if he cums. His balls are full and he's ready to
breed," the barber advised.
"Sure thing, Archie, I'll take good care of this pup. After all his
owner is my frat bro," Richie replied.
Owner? You yelp curiously. Richie misunderstands, and scratches you
behind your ears.
"There, there, Wanker."
The barber laughs loudly, "Your bro named it Wanker?"
"Yeah, he said when he first saw him the pup was licking his own
junk."
Wanker? First saw you with your cock in your mouth? No! It couldn't
be! Could it?
SPLASH
Richie plunges you into the warm sudsy water, and starts scrubbing you
while holding you in place. The warm water is having its effect on
you. Your still hard cock is painfully pissing into the bath water, as
Richie laughs. He takes his times gently scrubbing every square
millimeter of your new canine body. At your size, it doesn't take
long. Soon he's toweling you dry.
You sniff his crotch instinctively and are surprised that image of a
black labrador retriever appears in your mind. Richie must be the new
receptionist! He's going to be a dog too.
You yelp to warn him. He slips a collar with lead around your neck and
carries you up to the reception desk. He sets you on his desk just in
time to answer the ringing phone.
"Salon. May I help you?"
"Uh, huh, yes, we can fit your poodle in this afternoon."
It's a pet salon?
A shadow looms across the front windows. A delivery truck parks
outside. You see pictures of dogs painted on the truck. You focus on
the letters. For some reason it's harder for you to read now.
"Korman's Kennels" reads the sign on the truck.
The door opens and a bell tinkles.
"Say, Richie, all done with Wanker?" Kevin Korman asks striding up to
the desk. He reaches for you.
You instinctively growl.