Alexander had always known his stepfather favored his stepbrother, Victor. When their father—Alexander’s stepfather—passed away, the will was clear: the vast family fortune, including the sprawling estate and the thriving manufacturing business, went entirely to Victor. Alexander, the overlooked stepson, received nothing. Desperate and broke, he confronted Victor at the family mansion one stormy evening.
“Give me my share,” Alexander pleaded, fists clenched. “Half of it was meant for me. Father promised.”
Victor, lounging in a leather armchair with a smug grin, swirled his whiskey. “The will says otherwise. But… I’m feeling generous. I’ll transfer your half—millions—on one condition.”
Alexander’s eyes lit up. “Name it.”
“For one year, you become my dog. My loyal pet. Whenever I say, you drop to all fours, bark, fetch, roll over—whatever I command. No limits. Parties, family dinners, even at the office in our family business. Behave perfectly, and at the end of the year, the money’s yours. Disobey once? You get nothing.”
Humiliation burned in Alexander’s chest, but the inheritance was his lifeline. He nodded. “Deal.”
The year began immediately.
Month 1: The Family Gathering
The first test came at Thanksgiving dinner. Twenty relatives crammed around the oak table, silverware clinking. Victor snapped his fingers. “Here, boy!”
Alexander froze, face flushing crimson. All eyes turned. Swallowing his pride, he slid to the floor, barking twice—woof, woof—and crawled under the table. Victor tossed a turkey bone. “Fetch!”
Alexander scampered after it on hands and knees, tailbone wagging awkwardly as he returned it, dropping it at Victor’s feet. Laughter erupted from aunts and uncles. “Good dog,” Victor cooed, patting his head. Alexander’s cheeks burned, but he licked Victor’s hand as ordered, tasting salt and shame. The family whispered, “Poor Alex… lost his mind for money.”
Month 3: The Office Humiliation
At the family business—a bustling factory—Alexander managed logistics. During a board meeting with twenty executives, Victor entered unannounced. “Time to play, pup!”
Suits stared in disbelief as Alexander barked sharply and dropped to all fours amid spreadsheets. Victor threw a balled-up memo across the conference room. “Fetch!” Alexander crawled, retrieved it in his mouth, and trotted back, tail wagging. “Roll over!” He spun on the carpet, exposing his belly. Co-workers snickered; his promotion evaporated that day. Victor made him lick his hand in front of everyone. “Who’s my good boy?” The room echoed with forced chuckles, but Alexander’s heart raced—not just with rage, but a strange, electric thrill.
Month 6: The Lavish Party
Victor’s birthday bash was a glittering affair: champagne fountains, A-list guests, live jazz. Midway through, Victor whistled. “Showtime, Fido!”
Hundreds watched as Alexander stripped off his shoes, barked joyfully, and chased a glowing tennis ball Victor hurled into the crowd. He fetched it slobbering, performed somersaults, and begged on hind legs. Friends gasped; family averted eyes. “Sit! Stay! Speak!” Victor commanded. Alexander obeyed, panting. The finale: licking Victor’s hand while guests toasted. Phones flashed—videos went viral. “Your stepbrother’s pet,” headlines mocked. Alexander crawled away, body trembling, but in the shadows, he felt… alive. The degradation ignited something primal, a forbidden rush.
Month 9: Holidays and Heartbreak
Christmas at the estate: carols, a roaring fire, gifts unopened. Victor called him mid-feast. Alexander barked, fetched ornaments, and did paw tricks for grandparents. New Year’s Eve party: same routine, fireworks bursting as he rolled in the snow. Work escalated—daily “dog breaks” in the factory, barking orders to amused employees. Each lick, each crawl chipped away at his dignity, yet the humiliation coiled into desire. He craved the commands, the spotlight of scorn.
The year ended on a crisp autumn day. Victor wired the funds: $5 million. Alexander stared at his bank app, free at last. But emptiness gnawed. That night, he returned to the mansion, heart pounding.
Victor opened the door, eyebrow raised. “What now? Year’s up.”
Alexander dropped to all fours without a word. Woof. He crawled inside, nuzzled Victor’s leg, and licked his hand eagerly.
Victor laughed. “The money?”
Alexander barked once—yes—then fetched a nearby pen in his mouth, dropping it at Victor’s feet. He pawed at a notepad, scrawling with clumsy bites: All yours. Permanently your dog.
Victor’s grin widened. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you? My loyal pup forever.”
Alexander yipped happily, rolling over, belly up. No more suits, no more pride—just blissful surrender. Victor collared him that night, a real leather one engraved Fido. The inheritance reverted fully; the business thrived under Victor. Alexander never walked upright again. At parties, he fetched champagne corks. At family gatherings, he guarded the table scraps. At work, he “inspected” the factory floor on all fours, barking warnings.
In his new life, Victor was home. And he was the happiest dog alive.
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