Slave G-TraitsFLUFFER

The Fall - Chapter 47:

Even before I opened my eyes, I felt it, that restless, crawling tension in my chest.

The memories from last night hadn't faded; if anything, they'd sharpened overnight.

The punishment came first in my mind, prancing in place under Mistress's orders, the cane striking my thighs, Meera's giggles mixing with Mistress's corrections. My legs had ached but that wasn't what stayed with me. It was the way they both watched me. Assessed me. Talked about me like a creature they were showing off.

Then there was the dinner. The leftovers scraped into my dog bowl. Meera laughing when Mistress nudged it toward me. Her question "Do you actually like eating like that?" still echoed in my head. Mistress answering for me, as if I couldn't speak for myself.

And then Meera's toes. The first time she'd seen me serve like that, I'd wanted to disappear into the floor. But last night, I'd found myself doing it without hesitation, almost naturally. That realization shamed me more than the act itself.

It was in the middle of that service that they started talking about the BDSM fetish event. About taking me with them. Not as a guest. Not as a man. But as what I was now; collared, caged, plugged, gagged to be shown off in front of strangers who would understand exactly what they were looking at.

I tried to picture it and instantly regretted it: the leash in Mistress's hand, the weight of the mask on my face, the way my plug would shift with every step, the low murmur of other people seeing me for what I was. And Meera, right there beside Mistress, watching it all. Maybe even helping.

The thought twisted inside me, shame and arousal tangling until I couldn't tell them apart.

I reached for my diary and wrote it all down. Every detail. Every fear. Every pulse of heat in my cage.

When I finished, the plug inside me buzzed once. My body reacted before my mind caught up. I grabbed the mask from the table, pulled it over my face and crawled to her bedroom.

She was still half-asleep, one leg stretched out from under the covers. I kissed her foot softly, then took her toes into my mouth, sucking them slowly and reverently until she stirred.

"Coffee," she murmured.

I kissed her foot again before crawling to the kitchen to prepare it exactly the way she liked it.

After breakfast, Mistress lounged on the couch with her coffee, scrolling casually on her phone. I was kneeling at her feet, waiting for instructions.

Without looking up, she said, "I'm going out with Meera to get a few things for the party."

A few things. I didn't need to ask what. Whatever they chose, I'd be wearing or displaying it. My opinion wasn't part of the process.

She glanced down at me, a faint smirk curling her lips. "You'll stay here and keep busy with your chores. And when we get back..." she paused, letting the words hang, "we'll show you what we've picked out."

I swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

The rest of the day passed slowly, my mind running in circles as I scrubbed, polished and cleaned. Every sound from the street made me glance at the door, wondering if it was them returning.

When they finally did, Mistress was the first inside, holding a glossy black shopping bag in one hand. Meera followed, smiling in a way that made my stomach tighten.

Mistress called me to the door. I crawled over and she gestured toward her feet. I understood immediately, I bent down, kissed them, then removed her shoes and placed them neatly on the rack.

Then she gestured toward Meera. I did the same for her, kissed her feet, removed her shoes, placed them alongside Mistress's.

This time, Meera didn't giggle like she had before. She had that smile, that superior smile as if this was natural. As if she belonged here. She didn't feel shy anymore. She expected my submission.

That almost killed me inside. Any hope of sympathy from her was gone.

And I was aroused. Shamefully, deeply aroused.

Mistress walked to the couch and set a glossy black shopping bag down. She patted the floor in front of her. "Kneel, puppy."

I crawled into position, eyes fixed on the bag.

She reached inside first and drew out a thick, black leather collar. The stitching was clean, the D-ring large and gleaming and stamped across the front, in silver letters, were two words: PREJAC PUPPY.

Meera leaned forward, grinning. "That's perfect."

Next came the tail plug; long, soft faux fur attached to polished metal. Meera dangled it by the base, watching my reaction. "He's going to look adorable in this."

And then Mistress pulled out the last set of items, a pack of glossy temporary tattoos. She flipped through them one by one, showing me each. Bright, bold letters and unmistakable designs.

NO PUSSY ACCESS.

PROPERTY OF MISTRESS.

PREJAC PUPPY.

GOOD BOY.

A small, sharp paw print.

And finally, the spade symbol with the word BETA stamped across it.

Meera's eyes lit up as she took the sheet from Mistress. "We're going to have fun deciding where to put these."

Mistress smiled. "Oh, we will."

Mistress set the sheets on the coffee table and leaned back, eyes sweeping over me like I was a blank canvas.

"Stand up," she said.

I obeyed, keeping my head lowered.

She walked around me slowly, fingers trailing lightly over my chest, my stomach, the cage. "We need to make sure these are seen," she murmured.

Meera picked up the NO PUSSY ACCESS design and held it up against my lower stomach, just above the cage. "This one has to go here," she said, grinning.

Mistress nodded. "Perfect. It'll be the first thing anyone notices when they look down. After all, his little clit isn't allowed that... right, puppy?"

Heat flooded my face. The words cut like they always did, stripping me down to nothing. I stared at the floor, wishing I could disappear.

SLAP.

Her hand came down hard against my cheek.

"I asked you a question," she said evenly. "Do you agree, puppy?"

I swallowed hard, shame burning hot in my chest. "Y-yes, Mistress."

Meera's grin widened at my answer. She looked over at Mistress, eyes sparkling. "By the way... what should I call him, Claire?"

Mistress didn't hesitate. "Puppy. Of course."

The word settled between us, heavy and absolute.

Meera turned her gaze back to me, that superior smile still on her lips. "Alright then... puppy."

The sound of it from her lips sent a jolt straight to my caged clit. I felt it twitch, helpless, betraying me.

Mistress caught it instantly. "See?" she said to Meera, amused. "He likes you calling him puppy."

Meera chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "Good to know," she said, her tone carrying a new boldness.

Mistress reached for the PROPERTY OF MISTRESS sheet and held it up for Meera. "Middle of his back," she decided, "between the shoulder blades. So it's visible every time I've got him on the leash."

Meera smiled. "Like a label... in case anyone forgets who he belongs to."

Mistress smirked, circling behind me. "As if they could."

I felt her fingertips trail across my upper back, marking the spot. "This one's important, puppy. This one tells everyone exactly what you are."

She gave the back of my head a light shove forward. "Say it."

My throat tightened. "I'm... property of Mistress."

Her palm cracked across my back, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make me flinch. "Again. Louder."

"I'm property of Mistress," I said, the words ringing louder in the room.

Meera's smile widened. "Perfect. Everyone at that event will see it the second they look at you."

Mistress picked up the PREJAC PUPPY sheet and held it against my bare chest. "This one goes right here," she said to Meera. "Big and obvious. No one will have to guess."

Meera tilted her head, a curious smile tugging at her lips. "Is he actually...?"

Mistress chuckled. "Why don't you ask him?"

Meera's gaze shifted to me. "Puppy, are you actually a prejac?"

The shame hit me like a wave, running through my whole body. My eyes dropped to the floor. I hesitated.

SLAP.

Mistress's hand cracked across my cheek.

"Answer her."

"Yes, Miss Meera," I said quickly, my voice tight. "I... I am a prejac."

Mistress's smirk deepened. "Puppy, why don't you tell her if you'd last even twenty seconds if I unlocked your little clit and stroked it right now?"

Heat rushed to my face. My mouth opened, then closed.

Another slap. "Answer her."

I swallowed. "N-no, Mistress. I... wouldn't last twenty seconds."

Meera's brows lifted in mock surprise, her lips curving into a slow grin. "That bad?"

Mistress laughed softly. "Worse." She pressed the sheet against my chest again, patting it like she was already applying it. "And now everyone at the event will know it the second they look at him."

Mistress picked up the GOOD BOY design next, two identical pieces. She held one in each hand and glanced at Meera. "I'm thinking... one on the inside of each thigh. That way, every time he kneels and spreads, they'll frame the cage perfectly."

Meera's smile was instant. "Oh, I like that. Makes it look like he's presenting himself."

Mistress gestured for me to widen my stance. "Spread, puppy."

I did, feeling the heat rise in my face as my caged clit became even more exposed between my thighs.

She held one sheet against my skin, just inches from the cage, then the other against the opposite thigh. "Look at that," she said with quiet amusement. "Such a good boy."

Meera giggled softly. "Does he get called that a lot?"

"All the time," Mistress replied, still holding the sheets in place. "He gets hard every time, too. Don't you, puppy?"

My mouth felt dry. "Yes, Mistress."

She tapped the side of my cage with one fingernail, the sound sharp and humiliating. "And he's getting hard now."

Meera leaned forward slightly, peering down with that same superior smile. "I can see that."

I wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole but the throbbing in my cage betrayed me entirely.

Mistress picked up the small paw print design and circled behind me. "This one," she said to Meera, "goes right here." She tapped the back of my neck. "Perfect spot for when he's kneeling. Everyone will see it."

Meera's smile turned playful. "Like a brand."

"Exactly," Mistress said. "Like marking a pet."

Meera tilted her head. "So every time he serves, that's all people will see, this little paw print staring back at them?"

Mistress chuckled. "That and his cage if they're in front of him."

I clenched my jaw, the reality of it sinking in, no matter where someone stood, there would be no escaping what I was.

Mistress saved the last sheet for last, the black spade with the word BETA printed boldly across it. She held it up so Meera could see. "And this one... goes right above his ass. So it'll show every time the tail plug moves."

Meera's grin was instant. "That's perfect. People won't be able to miss it."

Mistress circled behind me again and gave a light tap to the top of my ass. "Bend forward, puppy."

I obeyed, feeling the stretch in my thighs as I lowered myself, fully exposed.

Meera shifted slightly for a better view, her voice dripping with amusement. "Wow... he really is just... on display, isn't he?"

Mistress smirked. "Of course. That's the point." She held the sheet just above my tailbone, pressing it lightly against my skin as if testing the placement. "This one's going to tell the whole world exactly where he stands... and where he'll always stand."

I felt the heat in my face, the shame crawling down my neck, as both of them looked at me like I was nothing more than a canvas for their amusement.

Meera's voice was softer now but no less cutting. "I love it. He looks... complete."

Mistress patted my ass once, firm, claiming before stepping back. "Yes. He does."

I stood there as they planned it all, not daring to speak, feeling like a mannequin while they mapped out how I would be displayed for strangers. Every word made the reality heavier, this wasn't about just going out. This was about showing me off like a toy, marked from every angle so no one could mistake my purpose.

When they were done, Mistress patted my cheek through the mask. "We'll put them on before the party. That way they'll be fresh and bright."

Meera's smile widened. "If everything goes well at the party... maybe you should get him the real ones." she added with a playful glance at Mistress, "I bet there'll be some hot guys there to flirt with."

Mistress laughed immediately, low and amused. "Mmm... now that's a thought."

They both laughed together, the sound warm between them but it burned in my chest.

Mistress gave me one last glance, smirk still in place. "Corner. Now."

I crawled into my cage without a word, the lock clicking shut behind me. The bars surrounded me, pressing that reality in from all sides. I could still hear their voices in the background, chatting casually as if they hadn't just reduced me to a marked display for strangers to leer at.

And deep inside, beneath the shame, my caged clit throbbed helplessly.

The Fall - Chapter 46:

I woke to the soft click of the timed lock releasing, the bars rattling faintly in the quiet room.

My body was stiff from curling on the thin mat all night.

Last night had been the first.

The first night I wasn't just sleeping in my corner, I was locked in.

Before, I still had the smallest fragments of freedom. I could get up if I needed a drink. I could slip into the kitchen or the bathroom in the dark.

Not anymore.

Now I stayed exactly where Mistress put me until the timer released me. I couldn't even switch on the lights by myself.

And her words still hung in the air.

She said that Meera envied her for having such an obedient slave... but then she'd added, almost casually, that sometimes she envied Meera too.

Because "real men" chased her.

Men who weren't locked in a cage, waiting for the sound of a timer to start their day.

That thought stayed in my chest all night; twisting, pulling, making it hard to breathe.

And then there was the last thing she'd said before walking away... "We can make some interesting plans."

I didn't know what she meant.

But my clit had throbbed uselessly in its own cage just hearing those words.

I reached for the diary and began to write it all down, each word another admission I couldn't take back.

When I finished writing, I set the diary by the wall.

The plug buzzed inside me.

I froze for a moment, then slid the mask over my face and crawled toward Mistress's bedroom.

She was still in bed, one leg lazily pushed out from under the sheet. I knelt and kissed her foot softly, then took her toes into my mouth, sucking slowly, reverently, like they were the only thing that mattered.

She stirred but didn't speak. Her breathing stayed deep and steady, letting me take my time.

When she finally murmured, "Coffee," I kissed her foot again and crawled to the kitchen to prepare it exactly as she liked.

By the time I returned, she was sitting up, hair loose over her shoulders, eyes fixed on the mug as I placed it on the table beside her. She took it without looking at me and I crawled back to the floor at her feet until she was ready to start her day.

The hours passed in quiet chores; wiping down counters, dusting shelves, polishing the floor by hand. She gave no hint of what "interesting plans" meant and that silence made it worse.

It wasn't until later, as the sun dipped lower, that she finally looked up from her phone and said, "Go make the preparations, puppy. Meera's coming for dinner."

The knock at the door made my stomach tighten.

Mistress didn't even look up from her seat on the couch.

"Go on, puppy," she said lazily. "Answer it."

I crawled to the door, opened it and there she was, Meera, smiling as if this were perfectly normal.

Heat rushed to my face under the mask.

"Greet her properly," Mistress called from behind me.

I lowered myself, pressing my lips to the tops of her shoes. Then, carefully, I slipped them off her feet, placing them neatly to the side. She stepped past me, bare feet on the floor, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

They settled on the couch while I remained kneeling nearby, waiting for whatever they needed.

It was Meera who spoke first, her tone light, almost curious.

"Can I ask, Claire... how is his whole body so hairless?"

Mistress smirked.

"I make him shave every inch," she said simply. "Can't have him mistaking himself for a man."

Meera's lips curled in an amused smile as her eyes flicked down at me lingering, as if she were trying to picture it.

Mistress gave a small, knowing glance in my direction.

"Go fetch the wine bottle from the kitchen, puppy."

I obeyed instantly, crawling away to bring it, my mind burning with the exchange.

I returned with the wine bottle, keeping my head low as I crawled to the coffee table. Mistress extended her glass first and I poured smoothly, muscle memory by now.

Then I turned to Meera.

Her eyes on me were lighter than Mistress's, curious and faintly amused but they still made my hands tremble. As I tipped the bottle, a thin trail of wine slipped over the rim and down the side of her glass.

I froze.

Mistress's voice was calm. Too calm.

"Puppy... what was that?"

"I- I'm sorry, Mistress. I..."

Mistress's tone stayed even. "Go bring me the cane, the cuffs and your puppy bone gag."

"Mistress, please..."

The crack of her hand across my cheek came fast and hard, the sound echoing in the room. My head jerked and heat rushed to my face.

"Oh my..." Meera murmured softly, her eyebrows lifting. I couldn't tell if it was shock, amusement, or both.

"You heard me," Mistress said, her tone still measured, controlled. "Now."

I crawled quickly, the carpet rough under my knees and retrieved the cane, the leather cuffs and the bone-shaped gag from the hallway drawer. When I returned, I laid them carefully at the table in front of her.

Mistress took them, standing now, her gaze cool as she buckled the cuffs tightly around my wrists behind my back.

She glanced toward Meera. "If he can't manage a basic service without trembling like a fool, he deserves to be punished. It's been a while since I corrected his behavior... perhaps you should witness how I keep him in check."

She picked up the bone gag and held it in front of my face.

"Open."

I obeyed and she fastened it behind my head, forcing my mouth wide and silencing any protest.

Then she stepped back, cane in hand.

"Stand in the middle of the room, puppy."

I stood in the center of the living room, cuffs pulling my arms tight behind my back, the bone gag forcing my jaw wide.

Mistress circled once, the cane balanced lightly in her hand.

"Knees high. Back straight. Head up. You'll stay right here and keep that form until I say otherwise. If your knees drop or you slouch..." she tapped the cane against her palm, "...you'll be corrected."

I lifted my knees as high as I could, back straight, head up, breathing hard through the gag. The first few movements felt clumsy and it didn't take long, a sharp crack of the cane on my thigh snapped my body upright again.

"Higher," she said simply.

From the couch, Meera chuckled softly. "Oh wow... you actually make him do this?"

Mistress didn't take her eyes off me. "Training a puppy takes patience. And discipline. But it works."

Meera's curiosity seemed to grow. She rose from her seat and came to stand beside Mistress, her eyes scanning my posture.

"His knees could go higher," she said after a moment, tilting her head.

Mistress smiled faintly. "You're right."

Another cane strike landed, stinging sharply across my thigh.

"Higher, puppy."

I obeyed, legs burning, face flushing under the mask.

Meera took a slow step around me, her gaze roaming from my bound wrists to the cage between my legs. "And he keeps this up for as long as you say?"

"As long as I want," Mistress replied. "He knows better than to stop without permission."

Meera gave a small, amused hum before returning to Mistress's side.

I kept prancing in place, the burn in my thighs building, my breathing heavy through the gag.

Mistress let the moment stretch, then stepped forward without warning.

Crack.

The cane lashed across my thigh again. I flinched but kept moving.

Meera giggled softly.

Another step forward.

Crack.

This time on the other thigh. My body jerked but I forced my knees higher.

Mistress glanced at Meera, a smirk curling at her lips. "See? Still keeping form."

Meera chuckled, leaning slightly toward Mistress. "Even after that? That's... impressive."

"Discipline," Mistress said simply, before striking me once more, harder this time, just to make me gasp behind the gag.

It was then that I felt it, the warm, shameful wetness in my cage. A slow leak I couldn't control.

Mistress noticed first. She tilted her head, eyes dropping deliberately between my legs.

"Oh... would you look at that, Meera?"

Meera's gaze followed and her mouth curled into a grin. "Is he...?"

Mistress laughed quietly. "Leaking. From posture training and a few cane strokes."

Meera let out a soft, amused hum. "It's... something."

"Tell me, puppy," Mistress said, her voice low and mocking, "is it the pain... or is it knowing she's watching you?"

I tried to look away but her voice cut sharper. "Eyes up."

Meera giggled again. "I think I know the answer."

They both settled onto the couch, watching me prance, my face burning under the mask, the heat in my cage only growing as they laughed quietly between themselves.

"Keep going," Mistress said.

So I did, prancing in place, knees lifting, back straight, every muscle tense, the gag making my breathing loud in my ears.

They began chatting between themselves, their conversation drifting from posture to other small humiliations I'd endured. Every so often Mistress's voice would cut through, "Straighter, puppy," or "Higher knees" and I would adjust instantly, the sting of the cane still fresh in my memory.

Meera leaned back against the couch, a faint smirk on her lips as she watched me move in place like a trained animal, her eyes catching mine briefly before drifting lazily downward.

Mistress finally lowered the cane.

"That's enough, puppy."

I froze instantly, sighing in relief as the command sank in. My legs burned like they were on fire, every muscle trembling. Behind the gag, my chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, desperate to catch my breath.

She looked over at Meera, smiling faintly. "Let's eat."

She released my wrists and unbuckled the bone-shaped gag, pulling it from between my lips.

Then she led me to the kitchen, ordering me to plate the dinner I had prepared earlier. I moved slowly, balancing each plate carefully to avoid another mistake.

When I brought the plates to the table, Mistress gestured for Meera to sit.

I served them in silence, head bowed, placing each dish exactly where instructed.

Meera glanced at me, then at Mistress. "Isn't he going to eat, Claire?"

Mistress chuckled softly. "Of course not. He only eats when we're done."

That seemed to spark something in Meera. She leaned back in her chair, her tone turning bolder. "So he just... watches you eat?"

"Exactly," Mistress said. "And waits for permission."

Dinner passed with me kneeling quietly at the side of the table, mask hiding my face, listening to their easy conversation. I caught snippets, laughter, the sound of wine glasses clinking, the occasional glance in my direction, each one making my chest tighten.

When they were done, Mistress turned to me.

"Bring your dog bowl."

I obeyed, crawling to the corner to retrieve the stainless steel bowl before placing it on the floor beside her chair.

Mistress scraped the leftovers from her plate into the bowl, then took Meera's plate and did the same.

She nudged the bowl toward me with her foot. "Eat, puppy."

Meera laughed, covering her mouth briefly. "Oh my god..."

I bent down and began eating directly from the bowl, the metal cool against my lips, the mix of textures and flavors unfamiliar and humbling.

Meera tilted her head, watching closely. "Do you actually like eating like that?"

I hesitated for half a second but Mistress answered for me. "He doesn't get a choice... but I think he does like it."

Meera chuckled again, shaking her head slightly, as if she couldn't believe she was seeing this in person.

When the bowl was empty, Mistress rose and moved to the couch. She sat back, stretching her legs, placing her bare feet on the low table in front of her.

"Over here, puppy."

I crawled to her, kneeling between the table and the couch. She extended one foot without looking at me. I bent down and kissed it softly, then began sucking her toes slowly, reverently, tasting the faint trace of her skin.

The first time Meera had seen me like this, I'd wanted to disappear into the floor. But now... the shame didn't hit as sharply. Somehow, in her presence, I'd adjusted. Accepted. My place felt fixed and my body obeyed without that desperate urge to hide.

They continued talking as if I wasn't there.

After a moment, Meera's gaze lingered on me. "I wonder... how does it actually feel to have your toes sucked?"

Mistress smirked. "Why don't you find out?"

The words hung in the air.

My chest tightened. The thought alone made my clit twitch inside its cage, not from desire for Meera in the old way but from the sheer weight of what it meant. This wasn't just Mistress humiliating me in front of her anymore. This was an invitation for her to participate, to touch that same leash Mistress held over me.

It wasn't even happening yet and still I felt my breath change, the bone gag pressing against my lips as I swallowed hard.

Meera blinked, surprised but didn't say no.

Mistress turned to her, her voice smooth. "Do you want give it a try?"

Meera hesitated for only a second before she shifted in her seat and extended one bare foot toward me.

"Go on, puppy," Mistress said, her tone leaving no room for pause.

I looked up at her, just for a second and our eyes met. The shame hit me again, sharp and sudden, like it had the first time she'd seen me like this. But I knew better now. Any hesitation, any delay, would only make it worse. Mistress would make sure of that.

I lowered my gaze, leaned forward and took Meera's toes gently into my mouth, my lips closing around them as I began to suck. Her skin was warm, her toes soft against my tongue.

Meera chuckled softly, glancing at Mistress. "Okay... yeah... I get it now."

Mistress's smile deepened. "Told you."

Mistress leaned into the couch, swirling the wine in her glass while I kept on sucking Meera's toes.

"You know..." she said casually, "there's a local BDSM fetish event this weekend."

Meera raised an eyebrow. "I've never been to anything like that."

Mistress smiled faintly. "You'd enjoy it. It's... educational. And entertaining. The people there are open-minded and you'll see all sorts of dynamics up close."

Meera chuckled softly. "I wouldn't even know what to do there."

"You don't have to do anything," Mistress said. "Just come with me. Observe. Ask questions. And of course," she glanced down at me with a smirk "I'll have my puppy with me."

Meera's gaze flicked to me, her lips curling. "Like... this?"

"Exactly like this," Mistress said, her voice smooth. "Except you'll see him in his proper setting. Where people will understand exactly what he is."

I lowered my eyes again and took her toes back into my mouth, sucking gently, obediently, as their conversation carried on above me.

Mistress didn't ask if I wanted to go, she didn't need to. I wasn't a human whose opinion mattered.

My presence didn't matter. I wasn't part of the discussion. I was the subject of it.

Mistress sipped her wine, eyes still on Meera. "So? Are you coming?"

Meera hesitated for a second, then grinned. "Alright. Let's do it."

Mistress's smile deepened. "Good girl."

They clinked their glasses together over my bowed head, as if sealing an agreement, while I sucked at Meera's toes, reminded yet again that, in both their eyes, I was no man. Not to Meera. Not to Mistress. Not even human. Just property, to be taken out and shown off.

I pictured it: the collar snug around my neck, the cage between my legs, the plug deep inside me, my body bare and on display in front of a room full of strangers who would understand exactly what I was. No polite disguises. No pretending.

It wasn't going to be easy. The idea twisted in my chest... and, shamefully, deepened the pulse between my legs.

The thought sat heavy in my chest, pressing down until it was all I could feel. And yet, somewhere beneath that weight, my caged clit still throbbed, a shameful, helpless pulse I couldn't control.

The Fall - Chapter 45:

I woke in the puppy corner, my body still curled on the mat, the air stale and close. But it wasn't the stiffness in my joints that made me shift restlessly. It was the memories.

It started with that moment at the door. Mistress telling me to greet Meera, bare and masked, by kissing her heels and taking off her shoes like I was her doorman and pet rolled into one.

Then Meera noticing the way Mistress said "my room" when sending me to fetch something. Hearing Mistress tell her, almost casually, that I didn't belong there anymore. That I hadn't slept beside her in ages. And the worst part? Mistress was smiling when she said it.

She'd promised during interrogation that she'd make me suck her toes in front of Meera and she followed through. I still felt the heat in my face from kneeling at her feet, licking slowly, while Meera sat there and watched.

And then... the plug.

Mistress making me turn around and show it to Meera, my humiliation complete as she pressed that button and made it buzz inside me. Meera giggling in disbelief, clearly entertained, while my body betrayed me.

All of that would have been enough to leave me burning for days... but then came the envy.

Meera didn't look at me with pity. She didn't think Mistress had gone too far. She admired her. She envied her.

It was her voice. Meera's voice.

"God... I almost wish I had a slave like this. You're so lucky."

That was worse than any slap, worse than the gag, worse than being called "puppy" to my face.

Those words had replayed in my head for hours, looping over and over until they became almost unbearable.

I had dreamed, once, of her touching me. Laughing with me. Maybe even wanting me.

And last night, she had looked right at me masked, gagged, kneeling with my plug buzzing inside me and said she envied Mistress for owning me.

Not pity. Not disgust. Envy.

It shouldn't have made my clit throb in its cage.

It shouldn't have made my stomach twist with... want.

But it did.

Meera didn't see me as a man. She didn't even see me as human. She saw something to own. Something to play with.

I reached for the diary and began to write, every line another confession I wouldn't dare speak aloud. The words spilled clumsy and uneven how her smile lingered in my mind, how her casual giggle cut deeper than any slap, how I didn't know whether I feared her next visit or craved it.

When I closed the diary and set it by the wall, the plug buzzed inside me without warning.

I jolted, heat rising instantly in my chest. My summons.

I slid the mask over my face, its tight fabric erasing any trace of my expression and crawled the familiar path to Mistress's bedroom.

She was still half-asleep, one leg extended lazily from beneath the sheets.

I knelt, kissed her foot softly, then took her toes into my mouth, sucking slow and reverent.

Her breathing shifted, deepening but she didn't speak until she murmured,

"Coffee."

I kissed her foot one more time before crawling to the kitchen to prepare it exactly the way she liked.

The day passed in quiet chores. Polishing her shoes. Wiping down the kitchen counters. Scrubbing the floor beneath the radiator.

Mistress didn't say much, though a faint, knowing smirk played at her lips whenever our eyes met. Something was coming, I could feel it.

It wasn't until after dinner, when I'd finished washing the last plate, that she summoned me with a buzz from the plug.

I crawled in and stopped at her feet. She didn't speak right away, just let the silence sit, letting me feel the weight of her attention.

Then she nodded toward the corner of the room.

"Go have a look."

I turned my head and froze.

It was a cage.

Not some flimsy wire kennel. A solid, heavy structure of black bars, low and narrow, with a thin mat inside. Big enough to hold me curled on my side, barely.

My stomach tightened.

"This," Mistress said softly, "is your new home."

She smirked, leaning forward slightly in her chair.

"You've been sleeping on your mat in the puppy corner for a while now, haven't you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

She reached down and lifted my chin with one finger.

"And yet, it still looks... temporary. Like you could earn your way back."

Her smile sharpened.

"That illusion ends tonight."

I lowered my gaze instantly, heat rising under the mask.

"Real men sleep in a bed with their wives, puppy," she said calmly. "But you're not a man. You're my pet. And pets sleep in cages."

My clit pulsed helplessly inside the cage at her words.

She noticed. Of course she noticed.

"Ah," she murmured, amused. "Even now, when I'm locking you away, you're getting hard."

She stood by the door of the cage for a moment, looking down at me with that faint, knowing smile.

"Funny thing... Meera says she envies me for having such an obedient slave."

My stomach twisted at the thought.

"I told her," Mistress went on casually, "that sometimes I envy her too. She's always got men, real men chasing her."

She crouched slightly so her eyes met mine through the bars.

"The kind who'd never be caught kneeling in a cage."

She stood again, tapped the bars once and said simply:

"Inside, puppy."

I crawled forward and squeezed into the cage. The bars felt cold against my skin as she closed the door and clicked the lock.

"Perfect," she said softly. "Exactly where you belong."

Mistress rested her hand lightly on the top of the cage.

"It's on a timer," she said almost casually. "It'll unlock at six every morning. That gives you plenty of time to write in your diary before crawling to me at seven for your morning duties."

Her smile deepened.

"Until then, you'll stay right here. No freedom."

Then, she took out her phone, crouching slightly in front of the cage..

"Hold still, puppy... I want a good angle."

The click of the camera made my stomach drop.

She glanced at the screen, smirked, then tapped a few times.

"There... sent to Meera."

I looked down instantly, heat rushing to my face under the mask.

Mistress's phone was already ringing.

"Hi, Meera," she said casually, as if calling an old friend. "Check your messages."

A pause. Then I heard Meera's voice faintly through the speaker, a quick laugh, then something I couldn't make out.

Mistress chuckled.

"I know, right? He's all tucked away now. Just like he should be."

Another pause. Another giggle from Meera.

She glanced at me through the bars.

"Oh, he can hear every word, Meera. I wanted him to."

Their laughter mingled in the air, warm and casual, as if I were nothing more than a shared joke.

Mistress's voice softened into a purr.

"...Why don't you come tomorrow for dinner together?"

A pause then her smile sharpened.

"We can make some... interesting plans."

She ended the call without another word and slipped the phone into her pocket.

"Sleep well, puppy," she said lightly, turning away.

Then she turned away, leaving me in the dark confines of my new home.

Earlier, even when I slept in my corner, I still had... access.

If I needed to move, to get a drink, to use the bathroom, I could.

Not anymore.

Now I couldn't leave. Couldn't even switch on the lights by myself. I was truly caged.

And Mistress's words kept circling in my head how she envied Meera for having men. Real men, chasing her.

And now... making "interesting plans" for tomorrow.

It filled my mind. Twisted in my chest.

And my clit twisted helplessly in its own cage.

The Fall - Chapter 44:

The Fall - Chapter 43:

I woke up with my face against the mat in the corner, the mask still warm where it had clung to my skin the day before. But it wasn't the mask I was thinking about.

It was her voice.

On the phone with Meera.

The way she said "puppy" with deliberate emphasis, she wanted Meera to hear it. She wanted to make sure there was no ambiguity left about what I am.

I remembered the dread blooming in my stomach when she buzzed the plug and called me in mid-call.

I remembered kneeling there, helpless, while she asked me what I was doing and I had to say it. In front of Meera. Scrubbing the bathroom floor, Mistress.

And then the slaps. And then calling Meera "Miss Meera" like some obedient little maid.

But worst of all was what happened next. When Mistress mentioned the men at the bar. How they flirted with her and Meera. How one of them was "hot."

And my clit had twitched.

I hadn't even realized it was happening until she paused, looked down and then smiled.

That sharp, wicked little moment of delight in her voice as she told Meera: "You won't believe what just happened..."

I wanted to disappear.

But I was leaking in my cage.

Mortified. Hard.

And then she said it. Just lightly. Almost a joke. "Do you want me to be with other men, puppy?"

I shook my head, trembling but my clit betrayed me again.

And she saw it.

She and Meera laughed. The call moved on like nothing had happened. But I stayed kneeling, sucking at her toes, heart pounding, mind spiraling.

Something shifted yesterday. Not just my role but the way she exposed me.

I reached for my diary and began to write, my fingers slow and clumsy, still heavy with sleep.

Line after line spilled out my shame, my arousal, every thought I couldn't say aloud.

When I finally set the diary aside against the wall, the sudden buzz pulsed inside me.

I grabbed the mask and slipped it over my face, feeling it stretch snug against my skin. No identity. No expression. Just the eye holes and the one for my mouth.

Caged. Plugged. Masked.

I crawled to Mistress's bedroom and knelt by the edge of her bed.

She stirred slowly, one leg pushing out from under the sheet. I kissed her foot softly, then took her toes into my mouth, sucking them silently and lovingly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When she finally murmured her order, I gave her foot one last kiss before crawling to the kitchen to prepare it, just the way she liked.

By the time I returned, she was sitting up, scrolling through her phone. She didn't look at me as I placed the cup down carefully beside her. But I knew she noticed.

"Go," she said, voice light and detached.

I bowed and left the room to begin my chores.

Bathroom tiles. Dusting. Polishing her shoes. The mask made everything hotter. Literally. Figuratively. I was sweating under it and yet it kept me quiet. Reduced. Hollowed out.

It was evening when I heard her voice echo from the living room soft and playful.

I paused and listened.

"...No, I was thinking the same," she said. "It's tonight, right? The local munch?"

My hands stilled on the sponge. She was calling Meera again.

I could only hear fragments but her tone told me enough.

I forced myself to keep cleaning, even as the conversation continued.

Around an hour later, the plug buzzed inside me.

I turned, crawling quickly to her, heart already racing.

She was sitting on the couch, casually dressed and looking ready to step out, perhaps for that munch she’d mentioned to Meera.

"I'm going out this evening," she said casually. "There's a local munch happening nearby."

My breath caught. I stayed still.

She smiled. "Meera's coming with me."

Something twisted inside me. I nodded.

She looked me up and down.

"And I want you to be properly gagged while I'm gone."

She reached into the small drawer by her side and pulled something out.

It was red. Silicone. Thick. Shaped unmistakably like a bone, a dog's chew toy. But it wasn't for chewing.

My mouth went dry.

"This," she said, holding it between two fingers, "is your new gag."

She walked toward me slowly, crouched and fastened it behind my head. It pushed my jaw wide open, forcing silence, compliance. My masked face now completed with its final accessory.

"There we go," she whispered.

Before standing, she reached for a pair of cuffs and drew my arms behind my back, buckling them tight. The leather bit into my wrists, locking me in place.

"Perfect," she murmured as she stood, admiring her work.

She leaned in and patted my cheek firmly.

"I expect you to be exactly where I left you when I return."

Then she stood, picked up her purse and headed to the door.

The door clicked behind her and the apartment fell silent.

I was on my knees, masked, gagged, wrists cuffed behind my back. Completely helpless.

The bone gag forced my jaw open, making my breathing louder in my own ears.

I shifted slightly, testing the cuffs.

And then the thought hit me, sharp and electric:

If Mistress brought Meera home tonight, this is how she would find me.

Caged, plugged, silenced, bound, masked and waiting, a display of exactly what I had become.

My stomach flipped. My clit throbbed against the bars of its cage.

I hated it. And I ached for it.

Hours passed in slow, aching silence.

The apartment was dim now, lit only by the lamp near the couch where Mistress had left me. I stayed kneeling, wrists cuffed behind my back, the bone gag holding my jaw open. Every muscle in my body hummed with strain and anticipation.

The plug inside me pulsed faintly with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of my position.

Every sound from the hallway made my chest tighten.

And then, finally, the lock clicked.

The door opened.

I straightened instinctively, my mask hot against my skin, my caged clit twitching.

Mistress entered first, heels clicking softly against the floor. She looked radiant, hair tousled from the evening, lips curled in that quiet, knowing smile.

And behind her, stepping into the apartment with hesitant curiosity... was Meera.

Her eyes found me almost instantly.

She froze for a half-second and I saw her expression shift. A flicker of disbelief. Then curiosity. Then something else I couldn't name.

I wanted to melt into the floor.

Mistress closed the door behind her and gestured casually toward me, as if presenting a piece of furniture.

"See?" she said lightly. "Exactly where I left him."

She walked past me, running her hand briefly over my masked head like one might pat a dog.

Meera lingered by the door for a moment, her gaze fixed on me. I couldn't look up fully. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it over my own breath in the gag.

Mistress smirked and set down her purse.

"Well, puppy," she said, crouching just enough to lift my chin with a single finger, "looks like Miss Meera got to see the real you tonight."

My face burned under the mask. My caged clit throbbed helplessly.

And then I heard it, Meera's soft, incredulous giggle.

Mistress crouched fully now, her face level with mine. She gripped my chin between her fingers and turned my masked face toward Meera, like she was showing off a pet.

"Do you see, Meera?" she said, her voice low and smooth. "This is what he is now."

I could barely breathe. My arms strained against the cuffs.

"He doesn't talk anymore," she continued, tapping the bone gag with a fingernail. Click. "Just drools and kneels and waits for me. Isn't that right, puppy?"

A muffled whimper escaped the gag. I nodded.

Meera hesitated, then stepped closer. Her eyes scanned me slowly, taking everything in: the mask, the gag, the collar, the cage, the cuffs.

Mistress smiled, then looked over her shoulder at Meera.

Mistress chuckled softly. "I think he likes that you're looking."

My clit betrayed me, twitching hard against the bars of the cage.

"Oh," Mistress said, her tone brightening with delighted cruelty. "See that? He's hard. Leaking, probably. All because his little crush is seeing what he's really good for."

Meera's giggle bubbled up again, softer this time but undeniable.

Mistress tilted my head back and gave me a light slap across the cheek.

She straightened, resting one foot on the floor beside my knee and casually pressed the toe of her shoe against my cage.

She said, glancing at Meera, "Don't you think you should greet Miss Meera properly, puppy?"

Heat rushed to my face as I leaned down, masked and gagged and pressed my lips to her shoe. I couldn't kiss properly, couldn't speak, only offer that clumsy, desperate gesture of obedience.

A soft laugh escaped Meera and Mistress's voice followed, warm with amusement.

"Good boy," she purred.

The words slid over me like heat and chains all at once. My entire body shivered, my caged clit throbbing helplessly at the praise.

Mistress let the silence linger a moment, her fingers brushing over the bone gag as if testing my helplessness.

"You look adorable like this," she said, voice light. "All ready for display."

Meera let out a quiet giggle and heat surged to my face.

Mistress gave my cheek a light slap, just a little reminder of my place.

Then, as if the moment meant nothing, she turned and sank gracefully onto the couch.

"Come sit," she said to Meera.

They both settled into the cushions, their voices soft and casual, like I wasn't there at all.

I stayed kneeling, my head bowed, the bone gag stretching my jaw open, drool sliding down my chin.

On the couch above me, Meera crossed her legs and leaned back slightly, eyes lingering on me.

"I know this all started with just a chastity cage..." she said with a soft chuckle, gesturing vaguely toward me, "...but how did it get here? To... this?"

Mistress smiled, glancing down at me like she was showing off a well-trained pet.

"Well," she said easily, "my initial plan wasn't to push him this deep."

She leaned her elbow on the couch arm, voice warm and amused.

"But I saw how he reacted to my dominance. No matter what I did, no matter how much I humiliated him... he got aroused. He loved it. He couldn't help it."

Meera's eyes sparkled, her lips curling into a grin.

Mistress tilted her head, her tone soft but merciless.

"His depravity knows no end, Meera. He's a humiliation whore."

I swallowed hard, my face burning under the mask.

They both chuckled not cruelly, just lightly, like women sharing a private joke at my expense.

And they kept talking about me like I wasn't there.

Mistress leaned back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, her hand resting lazily on my masked head.

Meera tilted her head, her gaze flicking between Mistress and me. Her lips curled into a small grin.

"So... what kind of humiliations have you actually made him go through, Claire?" she asked, her tone curious but amused.

Mistress chuckled softly.

"Oh, where do I even start?" She looked down at me with a smirk. "There's been a lot."

She tapped the side of my mask lightly with her fingernails, almost affectionate.

"I started small... just slapping him. He actually begged me for it. Didn't you, puppy?"

I whimpered through the gag and nodded slowly, shame burning in my chest.

Meera's eyes widened and then she giggled.

"Really? He asked you to slap him?"

"Mm-hmm," Mistress said, tilting her head as if sharing a casual secret. "And he got hard for it. He always does."

She trailed a finger down to my cage, tapping it lightly with her toe.

"See? He's already twitching now, just hearing me talk about it."

Meera's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

"Oh my god..."

Mistress continued, her tone almost conversational.

"I stripped him of all his clothes. He wears a butt plug all the time. He eats from a bowl on the floor now. Licks my feet every morning to wake me up. It's the only touch he gets."

I wanted to sink into the floor but I stayed kneeling, the gag stretching my jaw, drool sliding down my chin.

Meera leaned forward slightly, eyes sparkling with disbelief and fascination.

"No way... really?"

Mistress nodded, her voice light, almost proud.

"Oh yes. And I've fed him his own cum. He cleans up his own messes now."

I squirmed, my clit throbbing helplessly in its cage.

Mistress's lips curved into a more wicked smile.

"And then I made him drink his own pee."

Meera let out a sharp gasp, then laughed in shock, covering her mouth.

"You're kidding!"

"Nope," Mistress said easily. "He swallowed it all. Didn't you, puppy?"

I let out a muffled, trembling sound through the gag and nodded again, my face burning with humiliation.

Mistress gave my head a soft pat, her tone turning almost tender in its cruelty.

"And the best part? He hasn't been inside me in months. He won't ever be again. He only leaks in that little cage, like the pathetic prejac puppy he is."

Meera leaned back into the couch, shaking her head in amazement, a grin tugging at her lips.

"That's... honestly, I don't even know what to say, Claire. I can't believe he loves this."

Mistress laughed softly and glanced down at me, watching the twitch in my cage betray me.

"He doesn't have to say a thing. His little clit does all the talking."

The two of them chuckled together, their voices warm, casual and light as if discussing a kitchen gadget or a new perfume, not a kneeling, drooling man.

And I stayed where I was, gagged and helpless, my heart pounding with a mixture of shame and unbearable arousal.

Meera tilted her head, her eyes lingering on me a little longer this time.

"Can I ask you something, Claire?"

"Of course," Mistress said lightly, stroking my masked head.

Meera hesitated, then chuckled softly.

"Do you... even consider him your husband anymore?"

Mistress's laugh was low and warm and her hand slid lazily over my masked head.

"Oh, no. Not at all. He hasn't been my husband for a long time."

She tapped the bone gag with a fingernail. Click.

"He's my puppy now. My pet. My toy. He isn't my equal anymore."

Mistress leaned in closer, voice dropping to a soft, intimate cruelty, her fingers gripping my jaw.

"In fact... he isn't even a man anymore. Are you, puppy?"

I whimpered through the gag, shaking my head slightly, my chest tight with shame.

She bent closer, her lips brushing my ear.

"Are you a man, puppy?"

A muffled whimper escaped again and I shook my head harder.

Crack!

The slap landed sharp across my cheek, making my whole body jolt.

"Exactly," she hissed, her tone thick with satisfaction. "You're not a man. You're just my leaking, obedient little thing."

Meera giggled softly, the sound twisting in my gut.

Mistress finally reached down and unbuckled the cuffs. My arms tingled with relief as blood returned to my hands but I didn't move. I knew better.

Then her fingers brushed the back of my head and I felt the straps of the bone gag loosen.

"Open," she said softly.

I did and she slid the gag out, a thin line of drool following it. My jaw ached and my face burned with humiliation under the mask.

She set the gag aside, then flicked her fingers toward the floor.

"You know your manners, puppy. Show us."

I lowered myself instantly, pressing my lips to Mistress's feet first. One kiss. Then another. Slow and deliberate.

"Good," she murmured.

Then she gestured toward Meera without a word.

My heart hammered. I crawled the short distance, head bowed and pressed my lips to the tops of her shoes. Once... then twice.

Meera giggled softly, a sound that burned through me.

"Wow... he's really trained."

Mistress chuckled, the sound warm and satisfied.

"Good boy," she said at last, her hand giving my head a firm pat.

I stayed bowed for a moment, breathing slowly, my face hot with shame and my caged clit throbbing helplessly.

"Go to your corner," Mistress said. Her voice was calm, final.

I crawled away on trembling limbs, every muscle aware of their gaze on my back. By the time I reached my puppy corner and curled onto the mat, I felt completely hollow... and unbearably hard.

The Fall - Chapter 42:

The morning light crept in through the thin curtain, brushing across the floor like it was afraid to touch me. I blinked, slowly waking, the dull ache of the hard floor beneath my hips reminding me where I slept now.

In my puppy corner.

I shifted slightly and that's when I saw it, the mask. Lying exactly where I left it last night before sleeping.

Featureless with only holes for my eyes and mouth.

I stared at it for a long time. My face still carried the phantom feel of it. The way it hugged my skin. Covered everything except what she allowed to be seen. No expressions. No identity. Just a mouth to serve and eyes to obey.

Her words echoed faintly in my head:

"Puppies don't get to have expressions. Expressions are for humans. You aren't a human... are you?"

I reached for the diary.

The pen scratched the paper slowly, my shame unfolding in quiet ink.

Mistress put the mask on me yesterday. She said it makes me less of a person. Said it suits my role. I didn't argue... because it's true. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't see myself anymore. Just a thing she owns. A silent, leaking thing. And I got hard from that. I shouldn't have but I did. I leaked in my cage like a bitch in heat. I don't even know who I am anymore but I know I want her. I want to be useful. I want to be hers.

The words blurred slightly. My hand trembled. I didn't stop writing.

She told me to keep wearing it. Every day. To make it easier to forget that I was ever her man. It hurts. And it arouses me. That contradiction sits deep in my chest now. Just like everything else she's given me.

Just then, a sharp buzz inside me.

The plug.

I gasped and dropped the pen.

Without thinking, I reached for the mask and pulled it over my face. It slid on effortlessly now. Like it belonged there.

Like I belonged in it.

My face disappeared. My breath deepened. And I crawled, masked and caged, toward her room.

She was still in bed, covers tangled around her legs. Her eyes opened lazily as I kissed her feet beneath the blanket gently.

I sucked her toes, masked and silent. Her only acknowledgement was a slight shift of her hips and a faint, satisfied hum.

She slapped me lightly with the top of her foot, then whispered, "Coffee."

I nodded and backed away.

The mask stayed on.

The morning passed quietly.

I did my usual chores. Sweeping, folding, ironing. Breakfast was poured into my dog bowl on the floor for me at some point, plain and humbling. I didn't ask for more. I didn't deserve more.

It was in the early afternoon, when I was cleaning the bathroom tiles, that I heard her voice from the other room.

Playful. Light.

Then I heard the name.

"Meera."

My body stiffened. My clit pulsed in its cage.

Mistress was on the phone with her.

I paused mid-scrub, heart thudding.

Their voices carried faintly down the hall.

The plug buzzed sharply inside me.

I froze, scrubbing hand mid-air, then quickly set the brush down and crawled out of the bathroom, heart thudding. I could still hear Mistress's voice, light and amused and Meera's giggle in the background. They were still on the phone. Still talking.

Still talking about me?

I reached the living room and found Mistress lounging comfortably, phone pressed to her ear, her expression soft with mischief. Her fingers curled lazily, gesturing me forward.

I crawled to her and knelt, head bowed.

She didn't speak right away. Just let the silence stretch for a moment.

Then she said, deliberately, her tone sweet and slow: "What are you doing, puppy?"

The word hit me like a whip.

She had said it out loud. In front of Meera. No mask of subtlety this time. No vague, hidden terms.

My face burned under the mask. I swallowed hard.

"I..." I hesitated, then forced the words out. "I was scrubbing the bathroom floor, Mistress."

I heard it clearly, a faint giggle through the speaker. Meera was laughing.

Mistress smirked and leaned slightly forward, just enough to speak closer to the phone.

"Puppy, shouldn't you say hello to Meera?"

And then she brought the phone closer to my face.

I froze. My body stiffened. My mouth opened, then closed again.

Mistress waited a beat, then spoke again, firmer this time, with that dangerous sweetness that always carried warning.

"Go on. Don't keep her waiting."

I wanted to vanish. But there was no choice.

I gulped, lowered my eyes and forced the words out.

"H...hello."

SLAP.

My head snapped to the side. I hadn't even seen her hand move.

Then a second, the back of her palm, swift and stinging. My breath caught.

"Is that how you greet your superiors, puppy?"

I flinched, lips trembling.

"She is Miss Meera to you. Miss. Where are your manners?"

The phone remained close to my face. My mouth tasted of shame. My ears burned with the heat of humiliation. I could barely think.

Meera hadn't said a word yet. But I could imagine her face on the other side, the wide eyes, the disbelieving smile. The power she must have felt hearing all this.

Mistress tilted her head.

"Well?"

I gathered every last shred of courage and whispered:

"G-good afternoon, Miss Meera."

Another giggle from the phone. Softer. Crueler somehow.

Mistress smiled.

"There," she said. "That wasn't so hard."

She leaned back again, leaving me kneeling, exposed, still burning.

"You'll stay here," she added idly, "while I finish catching up with Meera."

Mistress gave me one final glance, then turned her attention back to the phone.

"I'm so sorry about his behavior," she said, her voice smooth but clipped. "That was so rude of him."

She ran a hand lightly through my hair almost affectionately before gripping a fistful and yanking gently, keeping me bowed.

"I'll teach him a proper lesson after our call."

There was a faint murmur from the phone. I couldn't make out what Meera said but Mistress laughed low and knowing.

"I know, right? That was so embarrassing. I really do need to be stricter with him."

I burned under the mask humiliated, exposed and painfully hard inside the cage.

Mistress gave me a slight tug with her foot, nudging it against my chin.

"You know what to do, puppy."

I obeyed instantly, lowering my masked face to her bare foot. Her toes were still warm, her skin scented faintly with lotion. I opened my mouth and took her big toe in gently, sucking slow and quiet.

She tilted her head back against the couch and sighed not from pleasure but from complete comfort. Like I was nothing more than part of her routine.

"Mm, he's useful in some ways," she said into the phone, voice playful again. "He knows how to keep his tongue busy."

Meera said something on the other end and Mistress laughed.

"Oh my god, yes. That guy at the bar who brought us the shots?" she said, casually twirling her fingers through my hair. "The tall one with the sleeves?"

She glanced down at me and smirked.

"He was so hot"

I froze, humiliated but kept licking. Her toe rested heavy on my tongue now, as if testing how much shame I could hold in my mouth.

Another laugh from her. "Mmhmm. Flirting so openly too."

She chuckled but then, just as she was about to continue, her eyes flicked down again.

A pause.

Her smile froze for a beat.

"Oh..."

She pulled her foot back slightly, straightened her posture and looked right at the cage between my legs.

"Meera..." she said slowly, her voice laced with gleeful disbelief, "you're not going to believe this."

She laughed, brighter now.

"His clit just twitched in its cage. Like violently. The second I mentioned that guy."

She leaned forward, intrigued now. Her eyes narrowed, watching me like a toy she hadn't finished unwrapping.

"He liked that," she whispered into the phone. "He actually got hard hearing about another man flirting with me."

She sounded delighted, positively thrilled.

Her hand dropped from my head and reached between my thighs, tapping the metal cage gently, almost like confirming a suspicion.

"You're hard again, aren't you?" she said aloud, more to Meera than to me.

I didn't answer, couldn't. My face was burning. I kept my mouth around her toes, afraid to stop, afraid to continue. But Mistress was already leaning in, brushing her free hand under my chin and lifting my masked face just slightly.

"Oh no, you don't get to hide now," she purred. "Look at him, Meera. He's blushing. Isn't that adorable?"

She lowered the phone slightly, as if letting Meera hear my breathing, then brought it back to her ear.

"I swear," she said, sighing theatrically, "I think he wants me to be with other men. Isn't that right, puppy?"

I shook my head quickly, trying to protest but then...

SLAP.

she tapped the cage again with her other foot this time.

"Don't lie," she said, her voice still syrupy-sweet. "That little clit of yours already told us everything."

Then, to Meera, laughing: "Honestly, it's so revealing. He tries to look confused and innocent but his little twitching cage gives him away every time."

Her tone dipped again, more private now.

"I think I should test it, Meera. See how far his humiliation will go?"

I couldn't hear the response, just Mistress's wicked smile curling deeper.

"Oh, you are evil," she whispered into the phone, clearly loving every second. "I love that idea."

And then, as if nothing had happened, they drifted on to some other topic casually.

Meanwhile, I remained kneeling, mask in place, clit aching in its cage, lips still wrapped around her toes. My mind spun, humiliated and aroused, trying to catch up with what she and Meera had just set in motion.

The Fall - Chapter 41:

The morning light filtered softly into the room. I shifted slightly in the corner, my corner now. My body had adjusted long ago but my mind still reeled from the weight of what Mistress had made official.

There was no more earning my place beside her. That door was closed. I wasn't her partner. I wasn't her man. I was her puppy. And puppies sleep where they belong.

The sting of those words hadn't faded.

Nor had the heat of last night. The memory of her pussy on my tongue while she casually told me how Meera now knew everything. The laughter. The pity. The knowledge.

It wasn't even a grand announcement. Just something Mistress tossed into conversation while removing her makeup like I was beneath notice. Like I didn't even matter.

And yet, I had moaned into her. My clit had pulsed in its cage. I had licked harder. I'd come alive at the humiliation.

She knew what that did to me.

She used it.

And I loved her for it.

I picked up the diary and began to write. I wrote everything I remembered how she spoke, what she said, the tone in her voice. The slap. The smirk. My own arousal.

Just as I closed the diary, the buzzer sounded.

Time to serve.

I crawled toward her bedroom on all fours, each movement deliberate, rehearsed like a ritual burned into my bones. The familiar scent of her sleep filled the room as I reached her bed.

One of her feet was uncovered almost like she left it there for me.

I kissed it gently. Then again, slower. I ran my tongue between her toes, letting myself savor her warmth. She stirred but didn't say a word.

I took her toe into my mouth and began to suck. Slowly. Lovingly.

Her voice, when it finally came, was barely above a murmur.

"Coffee."

"Yes, Mistress."

And with that, the day began.

The day passed quietly, mostly filled with chores.

I scrubbed the bathroom tiles, vacuumed the hallway, polished her heels, the usual rhythm. It was almost calming, the mindless repetition of serving. A way to disappear into obedience.

After lunch, as I was kneeling in the hallway folding her freshly washed lingerie, the plug buzzed inside me.

I immediately dropped what I was doing and crawled to Mistress's room.

She was standing by the window, holding something in her hand. She didn't look at me right away.

It was black. Not elaborate or playful. Just a soft featureless mask with 3 holes: two for the eyes and one for mouth.

When she turned, I could see the faint amusement already forming on her lips.

"I had this made for you," she said softly. "You'll wear it every day from now on."

My breath caught.

"It's not quite a puppy mask," she said, circling me now. "No ears. No muzzle."

She stopped behind me.

"But it's enough to hide your human face."

She let that hang in the air for a moment.

"To make you less of a person."

She moved closer, leaned in until I could feel her breath on my neck.

"Because I think it's time we took one more step, don't you?"

My mouth was dry.

She came into view again, holding the mask in front of my eyes.

"No more expressions. Just silence, obedience and the image of what you are."

Her fingers gently touched my cheek, almost tenderly, then slid the mask over my face.

It fit perfectly.

The fabric was smooth but firm, stretching just enough to slide over my head. It hugged my face.

No identity. No expression. Just eyes and lips. Like a servant without a name.

She stared at me for a long moment.

Then she smiled.

"Oh yes," she whispered. "That's much better."

She stepped back, still studying me, her head tilted, arms loosely crossed.

Then, without a word, she took my leash and gave it a slight tug.

"Come," she said simply.

I followed her obediently as she led me to the tall mirror near the wall. She positioned me in front of it, then stepped aside so I could see myself clearly.

What I saw made my stomach turn.

The mask stared back at me. Blank. Only my eyes and lips visible. No expression. No identity.

She leaned in, her voice calm and deliberate.

"Look at you."

A pause.

"You look more like a puppy now. Don't you agree?"

My breath caught but I didn't respond.

She smiled faintly.

"It suits you. Hides that human face. That silly urge to pretend you're something else."

She brushed her fingers along the edge of the mask, slow and possessive.

"Puppies don't get to have facial expressions. Expressions are for humans."

She tilted her head. "And you aren't a human, are you?"

I swallowed hard. My voice was barely audible.

"No, Mistress."

She let that hang in the air for a beat.

Her hand dropped, eyes flicking downwards.

She chuckled softly.

"Oh... are you hard?"

My clit twitched helplessly in its cage, the shame rising like heat under the mask.

Her tone was soft, almost amused.

She took a slow step around me, coming into view. Her gaze settled on the twitching bulge inside my locked cage.

"Well, well..."

She crouched slightly, as if inspecting something small and pitiful.

"You're leaking."

I flushed instantly. Humiliation burned through me.

"Of course you are," she said. "You like being reminded of what you are."

She locked eyes with me in the mirror.

"I like it too."

She dragged a finger lightly along the bars of the cage.

"So desperate. So easy."

I couldn't speak. Didn't need to. My body betrayed everything.

She smirked. "Good. Stay that way."

Then she stood back up, with a slow pat to my masked cheek, firm, almost affectionate, she turned and walked away.

"Back to your chores, puppy."

As she turned away, I lingered for a moment, still on my knees, still masked, still leaking.

Then I lowered my head and crawled.

Each movement felt heavier now.

The mask clung to my face, soft but unforgiving and stripping me of identity, expression, even the illusion of being a man.

I wasn't supposed to have reactions. Or opinions. Or dignity.

Puppies didn't need those things.

They just served. Obeyed. Crawled.

And as I resumed the chores in silence, I could still feel her eyes on me or maybe just the echo of her voice in my head.

"You aren't a human. Are you?"

No. I wasn't.

I was hers. Her thing. Her pet. Her puppy.

My clit twitched again in its cage, helpless, aching.

I hated that I got hard when she said it. I hated that it felt right.

But most of all...

I didn't want it to stop.

The Fall - Chapter 40:

The morning light crept in through the blinds but I had already been awake for some time.

Sleep had come late and fitfully.

My body had settled into the corner long ago but last night, the corner became my permanent home.

Mistress had made it official. No more pretending I could earn my way back.

A quiet, humiliating truth I was meant to accept.

I thought I had. Until she said the other thing.

Meera.

"She should know what you are."

Meera already suspected something but she didn't know the whole truth.

Mistress hadn't told her yet but she would.

And I didn't have any say in the matter.

The thought sat like ice in my chest. I couldn't stop imagining it. The moment Meera would know. The questions. The look on her face.

And worst of all... the arousal.

My clit had pulsed in its cage.

I hated that.

That I could be humiliated in front of the girl I once fantasized about... and still get hard?

I was scared of what Mistress might tell her.

I opened the diary and began writing everything I remembered, every word, every reaction. I didn't know if she would read it. But that's the only way I had to express my thoughts.

When I finished, the plug inside me buzzed.

Time to wake her.

I crawled to her room, silent on all fours.

Her foot peeked out from under the blanket, like it always did. As if it knew.

I kissed it. Slowly. Lovingly. Then I parted her toes gently and let my tongue slip between them.

She stirred.

I took one of her toes in my mouth and sucked on it, reverently, lips closed around it like it was sacred.

She murmured, still half-asleep.

"Coffee."

"Yes, Mistress."

After I brought her coffee, I got straight to work.

Laundry. Dishes. Cleaning the bathroom. Polishing her shoes.

By midday, I heard her phone ring. She was in the living room. I could only hear her half of the conversation.

It was Meera.

Her voice softened slightly. She laughed once. Then she said something about drinks at a bar nearby.

She agreed.

They were meeting that evening.

I didn't hear much more. But I didn't need to. My mind was already spiraling.

What would they talk about?

Would Meera ask questions?

Would Mistress finally tell her?

I wanted to run, to disappear but instead I just kept working. Washing, folding, wiping. I clung to the tasks like they could protect me.

By the time evening came, Mistress was getting ready. She looked beautiful. Effortlessly stunning. Her makeup was subtle but sharp, her outfit casual but deliberate, the kind that didn't need effort to impress. She knew it.

She slipped on her heels and sprayed perfume.

Then she left.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed louder than it should have.

I stayed busy with my chores, trying to distract myself with the scent she left behind.

But my mind wouldn't stop.

She was out there with Meera talking and laughing. Maybe... exposing everything.

Mistress returned late.

I heard the front door, the soft jingle of her keys, the unmistakable rhythm of her heels on the hardwood floor. My heart picked up immediately.

She didn't speak to me. Just went straight into her bedroom.

A moment later, the plug buzzed inside me. I knew she was calling me.

I crawled in, still unsure what had been said. What Meera knew. What damage had been done.

Mistress was standing near her vanity, already undressing. She peeled off her blouse slowly, then her skirt. She didn't look at me.

"On your knees," she said simply.

I obeyed, clit aching in its cage. Shame blooming in my chest.

She slid her panties down and stepped out of them, then gestured behind her.

"Lick."

I moved forward, lips parting as I buried my face between her thighs, tasting her sweat, scent, a hint of something else. She placed a hand on the back of my head, pressing me in.

With her other hand, she began removing her makeup, slowly wiping her eyes, her cheeks, her lips like I wasn't there. Like I was just part of the evening's routine.

And then, casually, like commenting on the weather, she spoke.

"I told Meera everything."

I froze for a second but her grip didn't loosen. I kept licking.

"I told her you're my puppy now," she said, voice quiet, satisfied. "Told her about the den. About how you were tied up that night, whining in the den while we had our little girls' night."

My face burned. My clit throbbed violently in its cage.

"She asked questions, of course," Mistress said with a soft smirk, "but she caught on fast. She isn't stupid."

Her voice dripped with satisfaction.

"She laughed, at first. Thought I was exaggerating. Then I told her about your chores, your little cage... how you lick my feet to wake me. About your place in the corner."

I whimpered into her thighs but she didn't stop.

"She got quiet after that. You know that little pause people take when something clicks? When they realize the joke's not a joke at all?"

Mistress let out a quiet laugh, breathy and cruel.

"She understood, puppy. I saw it in her eyes."

My stomach twisted. The humiliation was unbearable.

Meera.

She had seen me once as a man. Had flirted with me. And now she knew what I really was, what I had become. A caged thing licking its Owner's cunt on command.

And the worst part?

I couldn't stop licking.

Couldn't stop moaning softly against Mistress's pussy.

Because my clit was throbbing in its cage. Hard. Humiliated. Desperate.

The thought of Meera knowing, really knowing made me twitch with helpless arousal.

"She said she didn't know whether to laugh or pity you," Mistress whispered, dragging her fingers through my hair. "I told her not to do either. Because you're exactly where you belong."

"And I told her," Mistress continued, voice soft but cutting, "that you're not allowed inside me anymore. That you haven't been for a very long time. That your little thing is locked up now... and that even if I let you cum, it's only when I want it. Only when you've earned it."

I whimpered against her wetness, my tongue trembling but she gripped my hair tighter and held me in place.

"She asked why," she said, dragging her words slowly, "why a man would agree to such a thing."

Her hips shifted just slightly but I felt it. Her arousal building.

"And I told her the truth," she murmured. "That you're not a man anymore. That you're a puppy. That you leak, you serve, you beg but you don't fuck."

She gripped my hair tighter, yanked me slightly back just enough for my mouth to break contact and slapped me hard across the face.

Crack.

The sound echoed in the room.

I gasped, lips slick with her, cheeks already flushed from shame and now from the sting.

"Keep licking," she growled.

I obeyed immediately, diving back in, as if the slap had only made me hungrier.

A few seconds later, another slap. This time with the back of her hand, sharp, fast, wet from her own juices smeared across my cheek.

I moaned helplessly into her cunt, each word making her wetter, each strike making my clit twitch wildly inside the cage.

"She laughed, you know," Mistress whispered, her voice breaking slightly with pleasure. "When I told her you had to earn any pleasure you get. That even your orgasms are under lock and key."

She bucked slightly into my mouth. Her thighs tensed.

"She couldn't believe it. But I showed her."

I whimpered.

Slap.

"She knows everything now, puppy. That you're mine. That you're beneath me. That you're never going to be inside me or any woman ever again."

Another slap. Hard. Quick. Almost desperate.

"And that's exactly when I started dripping," she hissed, her breath catching.

"Because it turns me on too. Knowing she knows. Knowing you know."

Her legs clenched around my head.

"Now earn it, puppy," she moaned. "Make me cum with that pathetic little mouth. Show me you know your place."

I whimpered, humiliated and desperate, my whole body trembling as I obeyed.

She didn't slap me again, she didn't need to.

I was already broken open. And exactly where she wanted me.

Her thighs clamped tighter around my face. Her breathing shifted; short, shallow, desperate.

"Right there," she gasped. "Don't stop."

I didn't.

I licked faster, deeper, my tongue working desperately, hungrily, shamefully.

She grabbed my hair with both hands now, grinding herself against my face, using me. I moaned helplessly, my clit throbbing inside the cage, dripping, aching.

And then she came.

A low, guttural moan escaped her as she shuddered against me. Her thighs clenched once, hard then again and again. She held me there, buried in her, her juices flooding my mouth, my face, my chin.

She trembled through it, riding my face until the last wave passed.

And only then did she let go.

She stepped back slowly, breathing heavy, chest rising and falling.

Then without a word, she grabbed my chin and rubbed her wetness across my cheeks and lips, smearing her cum into my skin like war-paint.

I stayed still, panting, clit twitching madly, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

Mistress looked down at me.

One slap.

Hard. Stinging. Wet from her.

Then another, just as sharp.

I gasped not from pain but from the unbearable shame coiling inside me. The weight of everything she'd just said. Everything Meera now knew.

"Go," she whispered, stepping away from me, turning her back.

"Go to your corner."

I crawled. Silently. Broken.

Face wet. Cock caged. Shame leaking down my thigh.

Back to the puppy corner where I belonged.

The Fall - Chapter 39:

Even now in the morning, I could still hear her voice.

"Oh yes. I discipline him regularly. It's important. You wouldn't believe how lazy they get if you don't."

And then Meera's voice on the other end. Caught between a laugh and disbelief.

"Wait... he needs permission for that now?"

I had thought the slap would be the worst of it, being struck while she was on the phone, with Meera listening. But no. It was the way she said it. So calmly. So offhandedly. As if it were the most natural thing in the world to control when I was allowed to pee.

That moment had looped in my head all night. The way I knelt beside her after polishing her shoes, trying not to tremble. The way she smiled at me before saying aloud, "Yes. You may use the bathroom now."

Like I was nothing.

And what haunted me most... was how aroused I was now thinking about it.

Not in the moment. Then, I had burned with shame.

But now? Remembering how helpless I felt, how exposed I was? Remembering Meera's confused silence?

My caged clit twitched under the sheets.

I picked up the pen, opened my diary and wrote it all as neatly as I could.

When I closed the diary, the plug inside me buzzed.

Time to begin the day.

I crawled to her room in silence. The floor was cool beneath my knees, the plug a constant reminder inside me.

She was still half-covered by the blanket, one leg stretched lazily out, foot exposed.

I knelt at the edge of the bed and kissed it softly.

I let my tongue run between her toes slowly, savoring the taste of sleep and skin. Then I took one into my mouth, sucking gently, reverently. She stirred under the covers. Another toe. Another kiss. Another quiet offering.

She didn't speak. Didn't look at me.

She didn't need to.

Eventually, she stretched and shifted upright, brushing her hair back with one hand.

"Coffee."

That was all.

"Yes, Mistress," I whispered, backing away on all fours.

The morning passed in quiet service. One task melted into the next.

Later that evening, she told me to prepare the room.

Curtains drawn. Lights off except the small lamp in the center, positioned just so, casting a pool of light over the floor. The rest of the room was left in shadow.

When it was ready, I knelt at the edge of the light and waited.

Eventually, I heard her footsteps.

She entered without a word, circled slowly around me, then took her seat in the armchair just outside the glow. I couldn't see her clearly from where I knelt, only the shape of her legs crossed, the faint glint of her eyes in the dark.

The silence was heavy.

"Eyes down," she said softly.

As if I would dare look up.

Her voice came again calm and measured.

"You've been writing so honestly in your little diary. Pages and pages about shame, lust... your nature. But words are easy when no one's listening."

"Tonight, I want to hear you say them out loud. Do you understand, puppy?"

I swallowed hard and nodded.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good," she said. "Then let's begin."

She leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. The light from above cast a soft glow over my shoulders but she stayed in the dark; faceless and in control.

"Are you my puppy?"

I swallowed. My mouth was dry already.

"Yes, Mistress," I whispered.

"Say it properly."

I closed my eyes.

"I'm your puppy, Mistress."

There was silence. A kind of nod in the dark. Then her voice again, same softness. Same weight.

"Are you my prejac puppy?"

A sharp ache fired through my caged clit. Just the word, just from her mouth, was enough to humiliate me.

I hesitated just for a moment long enough.

SLAP.

My head snapped to the side with the sound. Not violent. Not angry. Just decisive.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes, Mistress..." I said quickly, swallowing hard. "I'm your prejac puppy."

A pause. The air felt thinner.

"Are you proud to be that?"

I hesitated. My voice caught in my throat.

"Answer me."

"I... I don't know."

SLAP.

"Try again."

"Yes, Mistress. I... I'm proud to be your prejac puppy."

Another pause. She let that sit in the air.

"Why do you kiss my toes every morning?"

That answer came easily. Too easily.

"Because I crave you, Mistress. Because I want to worship you. I don't get many chances during the day to touch you... to feel you."

"That's one of the few moments I get. When I can feel your skin and show you what you mean to me."

"Like the goddess you are."

"And when I call you 'good boy'... what does that do to you?"

I could barely speak.

"It makes me... ache, Mistress. It makes me feel owned."

She shifted again just enough for the chair to creak softly beneath her.

"Good boy. You speak like you understand your place now."

A pause. You could feel her gaze, even in the dark.

"You speak it like truth now. No stuttering. No blushing. Just obedience."

"That's growth."

A moment of silence followed. Just a stillness that somehow made it all feel worse.

Then, as if nothing had passed at all, she continued:

"Let's see how deep that honesty really goes."

She didn't move. Her silhouette remained still in the dark. Only her voice came forward, smooth and sharp.

"What do you see when you look in the mirror now?"

I froze.

My mind immediately conjured the image: the cage, the plug, the posture, always on all fours. The stripped body, the servile eyes.

But the words caught in my throat.

SLAP.

The sound of skin against skin cracked like thunder in the silence. My face burned.

"Say it."

"I see a toy," I said, breath catching. "A thing. Something meant to serve. Not a man."

She let it sit. Then asked, softly:

"Do you still think of me as your wife?"

That one landed somewhere deeper.

"I..."

SLAP.

"Do you?"

"No, Mistress. You're not my wife anymore."

"What am I?"

"You're my owner. My Mistress."

She didn't react. She didn't need to.

"Do you miss being inside me?"

The question felt like a blade. It slipped under the skin so easily.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Why?"

"Because it used to make me feel close to you. Like I mattered. Like I was still your man."

"And now?"

"Now... I'm not allowed."

A beat.

"Do you think you'll ever be inside me again?"

I hesitated not out of hope but heartbreak.

SLAP.

"No, Mistress," I gasped. "Never. I'll never be inside you or... or any woman again."

Another long silence. It was worse than the slaps.

"What's your purpose now, puppy?"

My throat tightened. My knees trembled slightly under me.

"To serve you. To please you in any way you allow."

There was a small exhale from her in the dark.

"Good."

She shifted in her chair again, just a slight creak, a flicker of movement in the dark.

"Tell me how it felt when Meera heard me slap you."

I blinked hard. My body tensed at the memory.

"It was... humiliating, Mistress."

"Say more."

"I felt exposed. Like a servant being disciplined in front of a guest."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Do you think Meera suspects?"

I hesitated.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Would you lick my feet in front of her if I asked?"

The words hit like a slap themselves. Shame rose in my throat.

"Mistress..."

SLAP.

Sharp. Precise.

"Would you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Loud enough."

"Yes, Mistress. I would lick your feet in front of her if you asked."

There was a pause. A silence so thick it swallowed the air.

Then her voice again, calm and assured.

"Of course you would."

Another pause. You could hear the satisfaction in her stillness.

Then came the words; cold, casual, inevitable:

"And I will ask."

I froze.

"You said it yourself. She suspects. It's only a matter of time now."

I stayed silent. My chest tightened.

"You have a crush on her. She should know what you are."

She didn't need my agreement, it wasn't a discussion.

"You'll be exposed to her."

The words echoed louder than any slap.

"She'll know exactly what her little admirer has become."

The silence that followed wasn't empty, it was heavy.

She said it so plainly. So certainly. She will know.

Meera would know.

My stomach twisted. My clit throbbed painfully in its cage. I hated the way humiliation made me hard.

I wanted to hide, to disappear into the shadows but even the dark in this room belonged to her.

Then I heard her voice again, calm and casual.

"Oh. One more thing."

My head lifted slightly. My breath caught.

"Your puppy corner?"

My heart dropped.

"I know you were sleeping there to get points. But from now on, it's your place. Permanently."

She said it like it had already been decided. Because, of course, it had.

Another pause. Controlled. Cold.

"You're not my man. You're my puppy."

"And puppies sleep where they belong."

The Fall - Chapter 38:

Even now, I could still taste it.

It had been almost a day but the memory lingered. Taste of my own piss. Squatted like an animal in front of the mirror, I urinated into my dog bowl under her instruction, trembling, ashamed and yet hard in my cage the entire time.

I hated how much it turned me on, the taste, the shame, her voice calling me a good boy as I swallowed my own piss. And worse than the act was her refusal. The way she smirked and said I'd have to prove myself before even begging for hers. It was unbearable.

I still remembered the exact words she whispered as she leaned over me:

"You want to drink mine so badly. But you haven't earned that yet."

It made me hard. Or as hard as the micro cage allowed.

And to prove myself, she said, I had to show I was worthy. That I needed to drink my own first. That I needed to understand exactly how low I would go before I could beg for the taste of her golden nectar again.

Even now, the memory made my clit twitch helplessly inside its prison. I hated how much it aroused me. I hated that it worked. That the smell, the shame, the warmth of it had stirred something in me so deep that I couldn't look at myself in the mirror afterward.

I picked up the pen and wrote about it in the dairy.

When I finished the diary, the plug inside me buzzed.

I crawled to her room.

The bedroom was still dark, just a sliver of dawn light breaking through the blinds. She lay half-covered, one leg extended, the foot exposed as if waiting.

I knelt at the foot of the bed and kissed her feet softly at first. Then I let my tongue run between her toes, reverently, slowly, tasting sleep and skin.

She stirred a bit. I then took her toe in my mouth, started sucking it in, wrapping my lips around it slowly, drawing it in and holding it like it was holy.

She stirred again.

After a long silence, she finally shifted and sat up, brushing hair from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Coffee," she said lazily.

"Yes, Mistress," I whispered, crawling back out of the bedroom.

Later in the day, I was crouched over the laundry basket, carefully folding the towels when I heard Mistress's footsteps behind me. I looked up and saw her standing in the doorway, phone in one hand, cane in the other.

She didn't speak. Just smiled as she showed me the cane casually, lightly like a private warning. My breath caught. I knew I was going to feel it. No matter what I did now, it was already decided.

She tapped her screen and brought the phone to her ear. I recognized Meera's voice as the call connected; soft, relaxed.

"Hey you," Mistress said warmly, strolling to the couch. "Still hate that series you were watching?"

Meera laughed. "Still suffering through it."

They talked for a few minutes, nothing special. Something about weekend plans, a shared friend's divorce. I kept folding, head bowed, hands suddenly too careful. I tried not to listen but I couldn't help hearing every word. I wished she had picked someone else. Anyone else. Of course she chose Meera. Of course she picked the one person who made this worse just by being on the line.

Then Mistress rose from the couch, walked over to where I was folding and plucked a towel from the stack. She gave it one quick shake and looked at me.

"This is the third time you've folded like this," she said plainly.

Her voice hadn't changed. Still calm. Still casual. But I felt myself wilt inside.

She was scolding me in front of Meera. Like I was a maid. A lazy maid.

My face flushed instantly. I didn't speak. Anything I could say would only make it worse. I just gulped and kept praying the scolding would pass.

"You're slacking," she added. "I think I need to fix your attitude."

I tried to plead with my eyes but it didn't matter.

The cane cracked against the back of my thigh before I could brace. Not brutal. Just sharp. Precise. Deliberate.

Meera (startled, half-laughing): "Claire, did you just hit him?!"

Mistress: "Oh yes. I discipline him regularly. It's important. You wouldn't believe how lazy he gets if you don't."

The shame hit me harder than the cane. I stayed folding mechanically, heat burning up my neck.

And Meera knew.

If she hadn't suspected anything the last time, this moment confirmed it. She might not have understood exactly what was happening but she knew something wasn't normal. She knew now that something was off.

And I knew she was hearing me being handled not as a partner, not even as a man but as something else entirely, something less.

Mistress didn't linger on the correction. She shifted the conversation smoothly, asking Meera something about her weekend, something light and deliberate. A change of tone to keep things from seeming too strange. Meera responded but there was a subtle pause in her voice now, like she was adjusting to something she hadn't expected to hear.

They kept chatting. I kept folding. Every word between them washed over me while I worked, trying to move carefully, quietly, as if invisibility might soften the shame.

When I finished the last towel, I stacked it neatly and knelt in place, waiting.

Mistress didn't look at me right away. She stayed in the conversation for another moment or two before pausing and saying, "Give me a second, Meera."

She set the phone down gently and turned to me.

"Now go and clean all my footwear," she said without raising her voice. "Polish them properly this time. Last time you didn't polish them properly."

The words hit just as sharply as the cane had. Calm. Undeniable.

I felt Meera's silence before she spoke. There was hesitation, confusion and then...

"Wait... he cleans and polishes your shoes?"

Mistress didn't hesitate.

"Of course," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "He takes care of the chores at home while I manage other matters. Making sure my footwear are clean and shining is his job. Why?"

Why. That soft little word landed like a slap.

My ears burned. My face flushed. I lowered my head and whispered, "Yes, Mistress," before turning to crawl toward the shoe rack melting inside from the quiet, domestic humiliation of being discussed like that in front of Meera.

Meera didn't respond right away. On her end of the line, the silence stretched just a bit too long. Not judgmental. Just... stunned.

Because it wasn't usual. And she knew it.

I cleaned them all.

Every pair.

Flats, heels, sandals, boots. Each one handled with care, each one rubbed down, cleaned and polished until the leather shone. I kept glancing at Mistress as I worked, hearing their conversation drifting in and out.

It took time because my hands were shaking.

When I was done, I could feel it, the pressure building inside me. I needed to pee. Badly.

I lingered by the shoe rack longer than I should have, hoping the urgency would pass, hoping I could wait until Meera was off the line. Going back now would almost certainly give Mistress another opportunity to humiliate me in front of her. I knew that.

But I couldn't hold it anymore.

The pressure was too much. I had no choice.

So I crawled back to her, stomach tight, clit aching in its cage, already dreading what would happen next.

Mistress was still on the couch, still on the call. Her bare foot was crossed over one knee, toes flexing slowly, lazily. I knelt in front of her and waited, eyes lowered.

She glanced at me, smiled softly and spoke into the phone.

"Hold on a moment, Meera."

Then she turned to me.

"Did you clean and polish all of them thoroughly?"

I didn't answer. Not with Meera listening. I couldn't say yes, Mistress aloud. Not now.

So I nodded once.

Her smile deepened.

"Good boy."

The praise landed like a chain tightening around my neck.

I swallowed and shifted forward, placing a reverent kiss on the top of her foot. Then I stayed there, kneeling, breathing through my nose. I needed to ask. I couldn't hold it anymore. I was full.

I lowered my head and kissed her foot again, the silent signal when I needed permission to speak.

Normally she just nodded. Gave me permission with a glance.

But not this time.

She looked at me evenly, her voice cool and composed.

"Speak. What do you need?"

I paused for a breath, then whispered:

"May I please use the bathroom, Mistress?"

She didn't lower her voice when she responded.

"Yes. You may use the bathroom now. Once you're done, come straight back to me."

Meera didn't respond right away. There was just a short, noticeable silence on the line.

Then Meera spoke lightly but with something different in her voice now.

"He needs permission for that too?"

Mistress didn't hesitate. She sounded amused. Almost indulgent.

"Of course. Some men do better with structure."

Another small pause.

Meera (a bit uncertain): "...Okay."

It was soft. Just that one word. But the tone behind it said everything. She had registered it. And even if she didn't fully understand, she knew again that something about us wasn't normal at all.

I lowered my head and crawled away, heart pounding, shame burning under my skin.

Because now Meera knew I couldn't even use the bathroom unless Mistress allowed it.

And Mistress wanted her to know.

The Fall - Chapter 37:

I didn't know what's left to take. And yet I wanted her to take more.

I wanted to be used.

Yesterday she told me to shave everything except the hair on my head.

She said she wanted her puppy hairless. Presentable. Human only in the ways that served her comfort.

It wasn't just about body hair. It was about ownership. About stripping me of the last remnants of masculine pride, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but obedience.

I had looked at myself in the mirror after shaving... and I didn't see a man.

I saw something else.

And I was hard.

But I couldn't deny it anymore: the more she changed me, the more I craved it. The more I felt owned, the more I wanted to be hers.

I scribbled it into the diary with a trembling hand.

"I'm becoming something else. I don't know what I'm becoming but it excites me more than it should."

The buzzer rang.

I closed the diary and crawled to her door.

As always, I kissed her feet and sucked her toes until she stirred. Then I made her coffee and served it in silence, kneeling beside her as she scrolled through her phone.

And then I felt the pressure in my bladder.

I shifted subtly but it was no use. I had to ask.

I crawled forward, bowed low and kissed her feet again to request permission to speak.

She nodded lazily.

"Mistress," I said softly, "May I please... use the bathroom?"

She raised an eyebrow. "To pee?"

"Yes, Mistress."

She tilted her head, studying me. Her expression darkened but not with anger. With amusement. With mischief.

Then she smiled that devilish little smile that meant she had a new idea.

"Bring your dog bowl," she said. "And take it to the full-length mirror. Quickly."

My stomach dropped.

I obeyed.

She followed me down the hallway in silence, sipping her coffee, the cane tapping lightly in her other hand. When we reached the mirror, I placed the bowl on the floor and looked at her, confused and already ashamed.

She pointed.

"Squat. In front of it. I want you to see what you look like."

I hesitated. Just a second. But her expression was enough. I crouched.

As I squatted in front of the mirror, I had to clench my ass tight to keep the plug from slipping out. I couldn't even imagine the consequences if it did.

"Lower. Yes. Like that. Spread your knees. Good boy."

I burned with humiliation.

She stood behind me, watching.

"Look at yourself in the mirror, puppy."

I hesitated.

"What do you see?" she asked, her tone laced with disdain. "Do you see a man?"

I looked down, ashamed.

The cane landed across my thigh not brutal but sharp enough to sting.

"Eyes forward," she snapped. "Don't hide from what you've become."

I raised my head slowly and forced myself to look.

There I was: collared, caged, plugged like some hairless animal over a dog bowl.

My clit twitched.

She noticed.

She chuckled darkly.

"Look at you," she said, voice low and amused. "No matter how much I humiliate you... you just get harder. Or, well" she glanced at the twitching cage, smirking, "as hard as that little thing can get."

She stepped closer, her voice a whisper at my ear.

"You love this, don't you?"

Then louder, with a wicked smile: "You're such a humiliation whore."

I flushed but didn't answer.

"Go on," she said casually, sipping her coffee. "Relieve yourself."

I looked at her in confusion.

There was no way I could. Not like that.

I glanced up at her, pleading silently with my eyes as I didn't have permission to speak.

She noticed.

"What is it, puppy?" she asked, casually amused.

I swallowed hard. "Mistress... may I please use the toilet? I'll still pee in the bowl, just... in the bathroom, please."

She tilted her head, smiling coldly.

"You're my puppy," she said. "You don't get privacy. That's for humans. Are you a human?"

I didn't answer.

"No, you're not," she continued. "You'll pee however I want you to pee. Period."

I gulped and looked down at the bowl.

I tried to relax, tried to obey but nothing came.

I looked at her again, silently pleading once more.

She stepped closer, crouched beside me.

"Oh, you'll pee in that bowl, puppy," she said softly. "I don't care how long it takes. You're not leaving until you do."

She stood, cane in hand and tapped it once against my shoulder.

I swallowed. I closed my eyes. Tried to breathe.

Tried to forget that I was being made to do this while fully exposed, being watched. Judged.

Slowly, after what felt like forever, a thin trickle escaped.

I felt my face burn in shame.

Behind me, I heard her sip her coffee.

"See?" she said sweetly. "It wasn't that hard. Such a good puppy."

A light tap of the cane landed on my bare ass, not punishing, encouraging and mocking.

"Go on. Empty yourself."

I tried again. Focused. My body resisted, humiliated beyond comprehension but I fought the urge to stop. Bit by bit, the stream resumed. Awkward. Broken. But steady.

I kept going and, somehow, managed to empty myself. The last drops fell into the bowl with a humiliating splash.

She stepped closer and gently patted my head. "Good puppy," she said softly, like I had just done a trick.

Then she leaned in, her voice lower. "My poor puppy must be so thirsty. Luckily, we have a fresh drink ready, don't we?"

I looked up at her in confusion. I wasn't sure I'd heard her right.

Her eyes sharpened.

"Go on," she said, voice firm now. "Drink it."

Shame surged through me like a fever. My body locked in place. I turned to her again, pleading with my eyes.

She tilted her head, almost amused. "Oh, puppy," she said, mockingly tender. "I know all about your little dream."

I froze.

"I read it in your diary. The way you wrote about it... how hard it made you. How desperate you were. Don't pretend."

I felt my breath catch. My eyes widened in horror. She had read it. She knew.

"You want to drink mine so badly. But you haven't earned that yet. First, drink your own. Show me you deserve the real thing. Then maybe... maybe, I'll let you beg for it."

I wanted to disappear. Crawl away. Hide under the floorboards.

But I couldn't.

My face burned crimson, glowing with shame.

She stood up.

Crack.

"Don't make me wait, puppy."

Another strike, harder.

"Get started. Now."

I flinched and slowly knelt lower beside the bowl. My reflection shimmered in it. The warmth of it radiated up. The yellowish liquid shimmered faintly. The smell sharp, pungent filled my nostrils. My stomach turned.

I bowed my head, trembling. Just over the rim of the bowl, I saw her reflection in the mirror behind me. Her eyes were cold, unmoved, waiting.

There was no way out.

I leaned down, closer. The liquid was still. My breath made it ripple.

I closed my eyes briefly. Gulped.

Then I brought my tongue out and touched it.

The taste hit me immediately; bitter, salty, humiliating. My entire body flinched in revulsion.

Behind me, she chuckled. It wasn't cruel. It was amused. Calm. Delighted, even.

Crack.

The cane struck again, sharper this time, across the top of my thighs.

"Keep going, puppy. No one told you to stop."

I whimpered quietly but obeyed.

I leaned in again, breathing through my mouth, trying to tune out the stench, the heat, everything that reminded me of what I had become.

Brought my lips to the warm surface. My tongue dipped lower, lapping it slowly.

She walked behind me, calm as ever, sipping her coffee.

Each time I paused or faltered, she tapped the cane against my thigh. Not too hard, just enough to remind me she was there. Watching. Owning the moment.

"That's it," she cooed. "Such a good little humiliation whore."

My clit pulsed inside the cage.

I hated that I was aroused.

I hated that she could see it too.

"You're doing so well," she said sweetly, stepping closer. "You're proving that you want to earn it, aren't you?"

I nodded faintly, face hot.

"Look at yourself," she said softly, almost like a whisper. "Look what you're doing just for the chance to beg for mine."

I glanced up at the mirror. I saw the collar. The hairless skin. My tongue in the piss.

And still, I kept drinking.

I finished it in slow, painful sips, swallowing my shame one mouthful at a time.

When the bowl was empty, I remained frozen, panting softly, tears stinging the corners of my eyes not from pain but from something worse.

She stepped in front of me, looked down, then patted my head gently.

"Good puppy."

I shuddered.

She turned, took a few steps, then paused.

"Oh and you're not allowed to drink anything without my permission."

I looked up. My lips were still wet.

"I want you to keep the taste of it," she said, almost sweetly. "Let it sit in your mouth. Let it remind you of what you are."

And she walked off, her mug in hand, leaving me there kneeling, used and filled with the bitter heat of shame and arousal both.

The Fall - Chapter 36:

I couldn't stop thinking about what she said. It was that line.

"I will never let you inside any woman ever again."

That was the moment I came.

Not her strokes. Just those words. The finality of them. The way she leaned in and whispered it in my ear like a promise.

I had never orgasmed like that before. It wasn't even physical. It felt like something deeper, something inside me cracked and poured out all at once. I moaned like an animal and came harder than I had in months, helpless, twitching, aching under her slaps and gaze.

And she noticed. Of course she did.

When I begged her to feed me my own cum, I did it with her voice echoing in my head that I would never be inside a woman again. That she would make sure of it. That my clit didn't deserve anything more.

And I believed her.

Worse, I wanted to believe her.

Even now, hours later, I found myself wondering, was she serious?

Would she actually keep that promise?

Would I really never feel her body again... or any woman's?

The thought should have scared me.

Instead, it made my caged clit twitch again.

I wrote it all down in the diary. Every word. Every reaction. Every whimper. I even described how my cock "my clit" pulsed so violently in its cage afterward that I thought it might explode.

The leash never tugged so sweetly.

The buzzer rang, as usual. I crawled out of the den or as she now called it, my corner and moved toward her door.

I reached her bed and knelt reverently.

She looked so peaceful when she slept.

I bent low and kissed her feet softly, then began to suck her toes one by one, slowly, gently, letting myself drown in the taste and scent of her.

I was already hard again.

I couldn't help it.

She stirred but didn't open her eyes. I kept sucking, lips wrapped around her second toe, then her big toe, letting my tongue move lazily, worshipfully.

Finally, she stirred fully and looked down at me.

Her first words of the morning were a quiet murmur:

"Coffee."

I kissed the tops of both her feet before getting up and crawling away to prepare it. My mouth still tingled with her taste.

And my clit ached inside its cage.

Later in the day, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, when I finished folding the last of the laundry. I turned to leave but her voice stopped me.

"Come here."

I knelt.

She reached forward and touched my chest lightly. Her fingers traced downward, pausing at the faint stubble along my stomach.

"I want every inch of your body shaved," she said. "Arms, legs, chest, underarms. Even the little patch around your pathetic clit. Everything gone."

I swallowed.

She leaned closer. "Except your head. I want to keep you looking human. Presentable for when we have guests."

I flushed with shame at her words.

She didn't say it cruelly. That made it worse. It was matter-of-fact like grooming a pet before company arrives. Like trimming a stray mutt so it wouldn't embarrass her in front of friends.

She raised her chin. "No more man-hair. You're not a man anymore."

I flinched at the words. She didn't soften them.

"You're my puppy. And I like my puppies smooth. Hairless. It's prettier and neater."

I felt the air shift. This wasn't a whim. This wasn't a game.

Her eyes met mine, calm and unreadable.

"Presentable." That word still echoed. Not handsome. Not respectable. Just... acceptable to be seen. Just polished enough to be allowed in the background, unnoticed, obedient.

And I understood. There was no argument to make. No dignity to reclaim. She wasn't trying to hurt me. She was just stating the order of things. And that quiet certainty... that calm control... it burned through me more than any insult ever could.

And my cock twitched in its cage.

She stood, walked behind me and brushed a hand across the back of my neck.

"You belong to me now in every way," she said. "And your body will reflect that."

I nodded, throat dry.

"Unless you'd prefer the cane?"

I shook my head quickly. "No, Mistress."

She returned to the bed and picked up her book.

"I like my things clean. Polished. Controlled. That includes you."

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she added, "Go shave. Completely. If I find even one stray hair, you know what that means."

I bowed my head and murmured, "Yes, Mistress."

The bathroom lights felt too bright. I stood there for a moment, staring at my own reflection; naked, collared, caged. I looked down at my body and tried to imagine it smooth, stripped bare.

I started with the clippers. Quietly, carefully, I shaved everything below my neck. Chest. Arms. Armpits. Legs. Each stroke took something more than just hair. With every pass, the man I once was seemed to fade further away.

I hesitated at my crotch, then knelt on the floor, spread my legs wide and leaned in.

I shaved carefully around my clit. Her word. Not mine but it was impossible to un-hear now. That's what she called it, again and again. Not a cock. Just a clit. I used the razor slowly, tenderly, removing the last traces of manhood from between my thighs.

When I was finally done, I stood in front of the mirror again.

I looked... smooth. Small. Emasculated.

The absence of hair made everything worse. Or clearer. My thighs looked softer, my chest hollow, my caged clit barely visible between hairless skin. I didn't look like a man anymore. I looked like a toy. Something delicate. Something meant to be used, not respected.

I flushed again. My cage throbbed.

Then I caught sight of the puddle of precum that had dripped onto the floor.

I wiped it up quickly, ashamed but not surprised.

Because I knew exactly why I was hard.

I stepped out of the bathroom slowly, toweling myself off. My skin felt strange; bare, too smooth, hyper-sensitive to every little movement. I kept my eyes lowered as I entered her room.

She was lounging on the bed, scrolling on her phone.

"Well?"

I stood in silence, unsure.

"Come closer."

I obeyed. When I was near enough, her eyes scanned me from head to toe. Her expression unreadable. Still, something in her gaze made my cage twitch again.

She set the phone aside and sat up straight. "Hands behind your head."

I locked my hands as ordered and stood still while she rose from the bed.

She circled me slowly, taking her time. I felt her fingers graze my shoulder, down to my arm, inspecting the smoothness. Then her nails scratched gently across my bare chest, lingering at the center.

"No chest hair," she murmured. "Good."

She crouched down, her eyes level with my thighs. Her fingers slid along my legs, checking the backs of my knees, the insides of my thighs. Then she touched the area around my cage. I held my breath.

"You shaved around your clit nicely," she said flatly.

I flushed deep red.

"I like this. You look cleaner now. More like what you are. No more pretending you're a man."

She stood and looked at me again. "Turn around."

I obeyed.

Her fingers traced my lower back, then moved to inspect my ass. She didn't say anything for a moment. Then she gave a light slap.

"No stray hairs. Not bad."

She walked around again and stood in front of me. "This is how I want you from now on. Hairless. If I find even one hair out of place next time... you know the consequences very well. Don't you?"

I swallowed.

"Yes, Mistress."

She tilted her head slightly. "You actually look better like this. Hair belongs on men. And you're clearly not one anymore."

Then she tapped the cage lightly, turned around and got back on the bed with a quiet smirk.

"Now go make dinner."

The Fall - Chapter 35:

I was still thinking about her call with Meera.

It had seemed like a playful moment at first. Just a joke between two women, nothing serious. But it wasn't. Not for me.

She had made me prance in front of her with my hands tied behind my back, correcting my posture with sharp, humiliating strikes from the cane, all while casually talking to her friend on the phone.

I was terrified that Meera would hear the sound of the cane. That she'd notice my sharp, stifled inhales or the tiny moans I couldn't fully hold in. Mistress didn't make it easy, she deliberately hit me harder while talking to her. I had to bite my lip. Clench my jaw. Everything in me focused on not making a sound.

But the humiliation didn't stop there.

She slapped me. Twice. While still on the call. No warning. No explanation. Just hard slaps that made my head jerk and my eyes water. I could hear Meera pause. She heard it and even asked about it. My whole body went stiff with dread. But Mistress kept chatting as if nothing had happened, making some excuse.

And then she pulled me in to suck her toes while still on the phone with Meera.

It didn't end there either.

Meera had made some comment about me being a helpful husband and Mistress casually said I was giving her a foot massage as a reward for doing all the chores.

I wanted to disappear.

Mistress made me talk to Meera and confirm that I was indeed giving her a foot massage.

I thought I could hide behind a polite lie, said I was massaging her feet because she was tired. It gave me the illusion of dignity. A sliver of control.

But Mistress stripped that away too.

"I'm not tired," she said, chuckling. "He just said that because he's embarrassed."

And that was it.

The illusion shattered. The curtain pulled back.

In front of her friend, who still thought we were just a normal couple, I had been unmasked. Not in some dramatic reveal. Just a quiet comment. An offhand truth.

It was devastating. And it turned me on like nothing else.

I was leaking by the time she hung up. I could feel it. A hot, wet shame pooling beneath me. I hated that I was aroused. I hated that I was humiliated. But the worst part was how badly I wanted to be both.

And Meera... she wasn't stupid. Mistress hadn't made anything obvious but I was sure she'd picked up on something.

She may not have known the full truth but something had shifted. I could feel it. Her voice had changed slightly after that moment. Curious.

She sensed something.

She might not know that I sleep in a den, that I eat from a bowl but she knew something was different. That there was some sort of dynamic going on between us.

I had no idea if Mistress meant to humiliate me that way but whether she did or not, it worked. It landed. And there was no denying now how deeply it aroused me to be unmasked like that, even quietly, even in passing. Even if she hadn't said the word "puppy."

And somehow, the thought of her knowing... made my cock twitch.

God, what's happening to me?

I wrote it all down. Every detail.

Then the buzzer rang.

I closed the diary and crawled toward her bedroom, my caged cock twitching uncontrollably with need.

I reached her bedside and kissed her feet softly, then took her toes into my mouth. I sucked them gently at first, savoring her skin, the scent of sleep still clinging to her. I craved her, her taste, her attention, her approval. She stirred but didn't speak. She let me keep going. Let me take my time like a hungry thing allowed to beg.

After a while, she gave me a light slap with her other foot, not harsh, just enough to remind me of my place and told me to get her coffee. I kissed both feet before rising and stepping away.

The day passed quietly.

I got excited when I realized that I reached the humungous count of 690 points. To be honest, I didn't even remember how many days it took me to reach there but I did.

During the nightly ritual, I knelt at her feet and bent down to kiss them, seeking permission to speak.

She gave a small nod without looking up from her book.

I spoke softly. "Mistress, I reached 690 points today."

She glanced at me briefly, then returned to her reading without a word.

I stayed there, silent, still.

After a few minutes, she rose and left the room. I remained kneeling, heart racing.

When she returned, she stood before me and simply said, "Stand. Hands behind your back."

I obeyed. My chest tightened with anticipation.

She tied my wrists firmly, then sat back in her chair and gestured for me to kneel again.

I dropped to my knees.

She leaned forward, unlocked my cage and opened the timer app on her phone.

I saw the screen for a second, then looked back at her adoring her, worshipping her with my eyes.

She picked up her phone and tapped the button on the app to begin the timer.

"Let's begin."

She lubed her hand and started stroking me. Steady. Methodical. No affection in her rhythm. Just purpose.

I was already hard. Already trembling.

"Say it," she said. "You are my prejac puppy."

I didn't hesitate. "I'm your prejac puppy."

A sharp slap landed across my face. I gasped.

"Say it like you mean it."

"I'm your prejac puppy," I said louder, voice tightening.

Her hand kept stroking. Unrelenting.

"Again."

"I'm your prejac puppy."

She smiled slightly. "That's better."

Her hand never stopped. The sound of lube and breath and shame filled the room.

Just as I was about to tip over, she stopped completely.

My whole body trembled. I was panting desperately, on edge.

Then her voice sharpened.

"Do you still think you're my partner?"

The question cut through the fog. My jaw clenched.

I froze.

SLAP. "Answer me, puppy."

"I..." I looked down. "I... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Her voice sharpened. Then, a hard backhand slap across my face.

"What do you mean, you don't know? Who lets their partner treat them like this?"

She waved her hand at me.

I flushed instantly. Shame rising like heat through my body.

I shook my head, slowly. Hesitating.

Another sharp slap.

"Say it, bitch."

"I... I mean, I'm not your partner anymore."

She tilted her head. "Again."

"I'm not your partner anymore."

She resumed. Faster this time. Cruel and efficient.

"Say it again."

I got aroused so quickly. I moaned.

"I am not your partner anymore."

Her voice followed the rhythm.

"Good."

Again, just as I was close, she let go completely.

My body shook. I nearly fell forward, catching myself at the last second.

She tilted her head slightly to the side, watching me.

"Do you deserve to be inside me again, puppy?"

I blushed crimson. My mouth opened but no words came.

She leaned in. For a moment, I braced for another slap but instead, she reached forward and grabbed my cock and balls with both hands, slowly rubbing them.

A soft moan escaped me.

"Tell me, puppy. Do you deserve to be inside me again?"

My throat went dry.

She squeezed my balls gentle at first, then firmer, tighter, until my eyes watered.

"Tell me, puppy."

"I... I don't deserve to be inside you again."

"Louder."

"I don't deserve to be inside you again."

She finally released my balls and began stroking me again, faster this time.

I grew hard almost instantly, panting, trembling.

Seeing how quickly I responded, she didn't let up. Her strokes became relentless, merciless, bringing me closer, pushing me to the very edge.

The whole time, her eyes never left mine.

I was right there trembling, breath ragged, pressure building in my groin, everything coiled tight and ready to snap.

And then, just as I was about to tip over, she stopped.

Completely.

I gasped, body shaking, desperate.

That's when she leaned in. Her lips brushed my ear.

And she whispered, slow and deliberate:

"I will never let you inside any woman ever again."

Slap.

My head snapped sideways.

Another slap.

The shame, the finality, the ownership in that whispered line, it shattered something inside me.

My orgasm hit me like a wave crashing through stone.

I moaned helplessly as I came hard, my body jerking, twitching in her grip. It wasn't just an orgasm. It was release. Violent, raw, overwhelming. My thighs trembled. My knees nearly gave out. I cried out not from pain, not just from pleasure but from the intensity of what she'd made me.

She didn't flinch. She watched with cool precision, her hand expertly catching every spurt in her palm.

I was still shaking, breath ragged, face flushed. That line had shattered something in me.

She looked at the pool in her palm, then at me. Her smirk returned.

"Well," she said slowly, "that did it, huh?"

I couldn't look up. I didn't want to admit it.

"You came that hard just because I whispered that you'll never be inside a woman again?"

I swallowed, silent.

She moved closer, lifted her hand, the sticky mess of my own release glistening in her palm.

"Beg me," she said softly.

I blinked, eyes wide.

"Beg me to feed you your cum, puppy."

I hesitated. My mouth opened, then closed again.

I didn't want to. I wanted to say no. But that wasn't an option. Not really.

And I knew it.

My voice was a whisper, ragged and small.

"Please, Mistress... feed it to me." I said quietly.

She raised her eyebrows. "Louder."

"Please, Mistress. Feed me my cum."

She brought her hand to my mouth. I opened. She pushed two fingers past my lips and smeared it on my tongue.

As I swallowed, she leaned in close.

"I wasn't joking, you know," she whispered. "You don't deserve to be inside any woman ever again."

I whimpered, helpless.

"And I'm going to make sure of it," she added. "So you can be assured... that little clit down there will never feel a pussy again. Ever."

My cock twitched uselessly in its cage and my face flushed with shame. I wanted to protest to deny it but the idea of her keeping me pussy-free forever made my stomach flip with arousal.

She pushed another finger into my mouth, making sure I licked her clean.

"Good boy," she whispered.

Then she showed me the timer on the app.

62 seconds.

She smiled, picked up the cage and locked it back on me without a word.

Then she untied my hands.

"Down," she said simply, pointing to her feet.

I obeyed immediately, lowering myself to the floor. I kissed her feet. Once.

"Again."

I kissed her feet again longer this time.

Then, after a breath, she said quietly, "You may go now."

I started to rise, preparing to leave.

But just as I turned, her voice stopped me.

"Puppy," she said, almost amused. "I saw how your clit twitched when I told you it would never be inside any pussy again."

I froze. Face burning.

"Don't come back pretending you didn't want it."

Her voice lowered, firmer now. "We both know how much it turned you on."

I nodded, ashamed, hard again inside the cage and utterly owned.

The Fall - Chapter 34:

I woke up hard.

Not because of a dream, this time but because of the truth. Because of what she had done to me the night before. Because of the way she had tied me, gagged me, used me. Because of the way she had looked at me; not as her man but as her thing.

Because of her words.

"You're not my partner anymore."

That line wouldn't stop echoing.

"Puppies don't get to fuck their Owners."

"This is the closest you'll ever get to fucking me again."

I used to think there was a way back. That maybe, someday, if I pleased her enough, she'd want me again. But last night, with my mouth stuffed and my cock untouched, watching her ride my gag and call me her filthy bitch, something changed.

Permanently.

She looked radiant when she came. Powerful. Free. Like she'd finally claimed something she'd been slowly reshaping for weeks.

And me? I was the proof of that transformation.

The thought made me hard again. The taste still lingered in my mouth; her climax, her words, her laughter.

I hated how much I loved it.

And I knew she knew.

No point hiding it. I was her thing now. There was no denying that anymore.

The dildo gag was still in the corner, drying from my spit and her scent. I couldn't stop thinking about it. How she grabbed my hair, fucked herself on my mouth like I was nothing more than a tool. The way she moaned and came, loud and shameless, while I knelt with my cock caged and untouched, leaking on the floor like a dog in heat.

The shame. The helplessness. The humiliation. I was hard again just writing this in my diary. And not the kind of hard a man feels for a lover, the kind of hard a pet feels when he knows he's pleasing his Owner.

When the buzzer rang, I shut the diary and crawled to her room to wake her.

I pressed gentle kisses to her feet, then took her toes into my mouth, savoring her scent, her skin. The taste aroused me instantly. She stirred, half-awake and murmured her order for coffee.

As I knelt beside the bed after serving her coffee, I realized I was still semi-hard. Not leaking but obvious.

She opened one eye. Smirked.

"Well well," she murmured. "Still thinking about last night?"

I flushed.

She clicked her tongue. "That much arousal? Poor thing. You really are trained now."

She sipped her coffee, then added, almost offhand, "You know... that was the best orgasm I've had in months. Maybe ever."

She said it lightly but it hit hard. Not because it hurt but because it thrilled me. That I had pleased her without touching her, without being anything more than an object between her legs.

She let the moment linger.

Then snapped her fingers. "Chores."

The day moved on.

But in the afternoon, I slipped.

Barely just a mistake with the folding, the symmetry not quite right. I thought she'd cane me. But instead, she left the room and returned with the leather strap for my wrists.

"Hands behind your back," she said.

I obeyed, swallowing hard.

She bound my wrists behind my back slowly, with focus. Tight. She didn't speak.

She walked around me, inspecting, circling. "Back straight. Chin up. Eyes forward."

Then she tapped the cane against the inside of my thigh.

"Prance, puppy."

I blinked. She had used this punishment before but it still felt so absurd. So theatrical. So humiliating. I couldn't move.

The first strike came fast, sharp across my thigh.

"High knees. Now."

I whimpered and started.

She made me prance slowly, deliberately. High knees, back straight, wrists bound behind me, bare and flushed and shamefully erect. Each time I faltered, even slightly, she struck again. A correction. A reminder. A lesson.

Then I heard her voice.

"Hmm," she said casually, pulling out her phone. "Let's see how good you are when someone else is listening."

I froze for half a second. She didn't like that. Another strike, across my ass this time.

Then I heard it.

"Hey Meera," she said sweetly. "Just thought I'd catch up. I'm at home, relaxing. Had a productive morning."

My heart started pounding.

Meera.

She was calling Meera. While I was prancing, nude and bound and dripping, trying not to make a sound as she circled me like a hunter.

I swallowed hard. Mistress knew about my stupid little crush. That's why she called her to make it even harder for me.

"Oh, nothing much," she said. "Just letting him take care of all the chores like a good boy. I deserve a break, don't you think?"

They both laughed.

My face burned. I kept prancing, more carefully now but her cane didn't slow. If anything, she hit harder. Crueler.

She did make sure to strike when she knew Meera would be mid-sentence, covering my gasps and whimpers with casual conversation. Sometimes I made no mistake at all but she hit me anyway, just to keep me obedient. Just to watch me flinch.

"Oh, what's that sound?" I heard Meera giggling. "That better not be your man groaning in the background."

Mistress laughed too. "Oh, please. He's fine."

I burned with humiliation.

She walked up to me, eyes glinting. Her voice didn't change.

"Oh, nothing," she said, "just... reminding him to focus."

They kept chatting about food, someone's vacation, shoes and all the while, I kept prancing, sweating, shaking. Trying not to pant too loudly. Trying not to collapse.

Eventually, she gestured me forward with two fingers.

I did, trembling, crawling across the room like the pet I was.

She settled onto the couch. Gestured me to kneel in front of her.

I knelt in front of her, unsure what was coming.

Then, without missing a beat in her call, she slapped me. Hard. Right across the cheek.

I whimpered.

"What was that?" Meera asked again.

Mistress chuckled. "Nothing, just... swatting a fly."

Another slap. This time on the other cheek.

I stayed still.

She reached down, brought her bare foot to my lips.

I didn't need to be told. I started sucking her toes gently.

"Oh, I'm letting him give me a foot massage," she said to Meera with a light laugh. "It's his reward for handling all the chores. I know, I'm just too generous, aren't I?"

Meera laughed too. "You're joking, right?"

Mistress smirked. "Nope. He's right here."

Meera sounded amused, doubtful. "Come on. That's not real."

Mistress casually brought the phone closer to my face.

"Well?" she said softly. "Tell her."

I froze. I wanted to disappear.

"Go on. Tell Meera what you're doing."

I looked up, wide-eyed. She slapped my cheek softly, a nudge.

"I... I'm giving her a massage," I managed to stammer. "She was... tired."

There was a long pause. Then a snort of laughter from Meera.

Mistress chuckled low and cruel. "See? He's doing it. And I'm not tired. He just said that because he's embarrassed."

Meera sounded completely bewildered. "Oh my god... wow. You're unbelievable."

Mistress leaned back, delighting in it all. Her foot slid a little deeper against my tongue.

I burned with shame. And still, I stayed there, sucking obediently, knowing I'd only proven her point.

She let Meera continue talking, small talk now, lighter as she toyed with my mouth and face with her foot. I stayed there, kneeling, licking her toes like a pathetic pet while she talked as if nothing was happening.

Eventually, the call ended.

She looked at me. Her smile deepened.

"Still leaking?"

I didn't answer.

She reached down. Touched the floor. Felt the droplet there.

"You're unbelievable," she said softly.

Then, she pressed her foot to my lips again.

"Clean yourself, puppy."

And I did.

The Fall - Chapter 33:

She didn't say much in the morning. Just that it was our anniversary and she would "let me fuck her tonight."

My heart jumped. I didn't ask questions. I didn't dare.

But the words repeated in my head all day like a song I couldn't turn off.

Let me fuck her.

I hadn't been inside her in... I couldn't even count the days anymore. I didn't think she'd ever let me again. But tonight, she said tonight.

I couldn't focus. Everything I did, folding the towels, ironing her dresses, scrubbing the floor beneath the radiator, I did with a thudding pulse in my chest. I was smiling without realizing it. Humming. I caught myself peeking at the clock every few minutes, rushing through the tasks just to keep the path clear for evening.

I even earned extra points. I wanted to be perfect. I had to be.

This was my chance.

I wanted to be her man again. Even if just for a night.

Evening.

She called me into the her bedroom just after she'd finished brushing her hair.

"Come," she said, calm and clear.

I crawled to her, breath shallow.

She looked radiant. Bare legs crossed on the edge of the bed. Calm, controlled. Watching me.

"You've been good today," she said. "Do you want your anniversary reward?"

I nodded. "Yes, Mistress. Please."

"Stand," she said.

I obeyed.

She walked behind me, slowly, like she was inspecting a prize.

Then she tied my wrists behind my back, expertly, tightly, with no hesitation.

Still, I stayed hopeful. Excited. I thought maybe she just wanted control that she'd ride me with my hands bound.

Then she moved in front of me again.

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

I did. Heart pounding.

"Open your mouth."

My lips parted.

Something rubbery, large slid between them.

My eyes flew open.

It was the dildo gag.

Thick, black, unforgiving.

She buckled the gag tight and walked around in front of me again.

I froze.

I tried to speak. To protest. But it was too late.

Her smile turned into a smirk.

She buckled the gag tight and walked around in front of me again.

"You really thought I'd let you use your cock?" she asked, voice smooth, almost amused.

She walked slowly around me, letting her hand trail down my chest.

"I said you'd get to fuck me. I never said how."

I moaned behind the gag.

"Do you really think your little clit deserves me? You'd last what... fifteen seconds?"

I froze.

She tapped the rubber shaft now jutting from my mouth. "This, puppy. This is what a cock looks like."

She leaned in closer, her voice lower.

"The one between your legs doesn't even deserve the name. It doesn't stand a chance against this. In size, in stamina, in usefulness. Why even compare?"

My face burned with shame.

She tilted her head mockingly. "You're not my man anymore, puppy. You're not my partner anymore."

She gave my cock a soft, dismissive slap with her fingertips. "You're my prejac puppy. This thing here? It's just for leaking. And you do that so well, don't you?"

I whimpered behind the gag.

She climbed onto the bed, spread her thighs and pulled me forward by the leash.

"I'm your Owner," she said, voice low and certain. "And puppies don't fuck their Owners. Do they?"

I didn't answer fast enough.

Her palm cracked across my cheek. Hard. Unforgiving. As if punishing me for even daring to hope I might fuck her with my... clit.

My breath caught.

Did I just call it that?

The shame settled deep. I couldn't deny it anymore, not to her, not even to myself.

Then she curled her fingers into my hair, firm and possessive and began to guide my head, dragging the rubber cock between my lips to fuck herself with me, as she pleased.

"Good boy," she moaned, rocking her hips against my face. "Fuck your Mistress with your mouth. With the only cock in this room that actually works."

She slapped my face mid-thrust. Hard. Then again. Left. Right.

"Filthy bitch," she panted, "this is all you're good for now."

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. I was leaking so much I could feel it running down my thigh.

"This..." she moaned, her voice starting to break, "this is the closest you'll ever come to fucking me again."

She came with a loud cry, grinding her cunt against the dildo gag, her thighs clenching around my face as she squirted, soaking me.

I gasped when she finally stopped and let me fall back to my knees.

She unbuckled the gag slowly and held my chin.

"Open wide."

I obeyed.

She dragged her wet slit across my face again, then pressed it to my mouth.

"Lick me clean."

I did. Shamefully. Obediently. Lovingly.

When she was satisfied, she stepped back, looked down and smirked.

"Oh my. Did you see that, puppy?"

There was a puddle of precum on the floor beneath me.

"You really do love being humiliated, don't you?"

I nodded helplessly.

"Then lick it. All of it."

She gripped my hair tighter and shoved my face down, pressing me to the floor. "Clean it up, puppy. Every drop."

I cleaned it up, every drop, cheeks burning.

And when I finished, she patted my head and untied my hands.

"Good boy," she whispered. "Now go to your puppy corner."

The Fall - Chapter 32:

I didn't know why I was hard. I didn't know.

I woke up hard and leaking. It couldn't be because of that dream.

I tried to tell myself otherwise but I couldn't deny the truth. It was that dream.

Last night, I dreamed I drank from her.

Not wine. Not cum. Something darker. Bitter. Humbling.

Then the bigger problem was confessing this. I didn't want to confess it. It was too embarrassing to confess.

I stared at the page for a long time, hoping something else would come. Something I could write instead, a task, a thought, a neutral excuse. But nothing came.

And the longer I waited, the more obvious it would be.

If I didn't write something, she would have found out. I was too horny that morning. More than usual. And being completely bare and exposed, I was an open book. My body betrays me too easily in these moments.

She would notice. She always notices.

If I didn't write the truth, she'd still know it.

So, I had no choice but to write it. I was more scared of her cane than admitting this. I didn't want her cane.

I was already leaking when I reached for the pen.

So here it was.

The dream last night... it unsettled me.

It started normal or what passes for normal now. I was kneeling. Naked. Plugged. Hands behind my back. Nothing unusual. But she was standing above me, close, towering but I couldn't see her face. Only her legs. Her feet. Bare. Still. Powerful.

She did something... above me. I felt warmth trickling down my chest, my neck, my lips. I didn't understand it in the dream. But I didn't pull away. I stayed still. I let it happen.

I froze.

Not in protest, just confusion.

But I didn't move. I didn't flinch. I just let it happen.

Even when it reached my tongue.

I didn't understand it at first. Not in the dream.

But I also didn't stop it.

Afterwards, she placed a hand on my head. Possessive. Almost gentle.

And it was dry.

That part stayed with me the most; the way her hand stayed dry.

When I woke, I was hard. Aching. Leaking.

And I hated myself for it.

But not enough to stop.

Then the buzzer went off.

My routine kicked in like muscle memory. I closed the diary, placed it where it belonged and crawled toward her bedroom.

Still half-hard.

Still thinking about the taste.

I took my time with them again that morning. Letting her feel the gratitude, the reverence. A small part of me hoped it would make up for what I had dreamed. Another part... just needed to be close to her.

She yawned, stretched.

Then, she murmured, "What did you dream about, puppy?"

I froze.

I hadn't made a sound.

My mouth went dry. I didn't answer.

"You're a little stiff this morning," she said, half-smiling. "Must've been intense."

She didn't press. Just sipped the coffee I had brought, amused.

That was all.

She said nothing more. Gave no sign she knew. But her tone, her words, the timing, it was enough to make my stomach twist. Enough to make me wonder if somehow... she had.

She didn't bring it up again that day.

Not the dream. Not the stiffness. Nothing.

But something had shifted.

There was a playful edge to her voice that hadn't been there the day before. A faint glint in her eyes when she gave me tasks. She didn't say anything but she didn't need to. The unspoken tension hovered between us and I obeyed her all the more carefully for it.

The chores that morning were familiar but subtly worse.

She didn't just ask me to clean the toilet. She asked me to do it with my bare hands and no gloves. "It's clean, isn't it?" she said when I hesitated. "What's there to worry about?"

She made me scrub the bathroom tiles on my knees, naked, while she stood in the doorway watching, sipping her tea, swirling it gently.

At one point she walked in, stepped over me casually and let her foot rest on the back of my neck while she checked her phone. "Still dreaming, puppy?" she murmured, not even looking down.

I swallowed hard and kept scrubbing.

Later, when I was preparing her lunch, she leaned against the counter and watched me slice fruit for her plate.

"You're quiet today," she said softly. "Thinking about something?"

I didn't answer.

She reached out and ran her fingers slowly across the nape of my neck. Her touch was light, casual but it made my whole body tense.

"You'll tell me if something's on your mind, won't you, puppy?" she said.

I nodded.

"Good boy."

Then she left. Just like that.

The day passed in a blur of obedience and uncertainty. She gave no sign of reading my diary. No mention of the words I'd written, or the shame I had spilled into the page.

But that evening I was kneeling as always, hands clasped behind my back, knees spread, head bowed in silence as part of the nightly ritual. My thighs ached. I'd lost track of how long I'd been there.

Then she reached down, hooked her finger under my collar and tugged me closer.

"I think I want to explore that dream of yours sometime," she said, almost idly. "Whatever it was."

My heart stopped.

She didn't explain. Didn't clarify. Just kissed my forehead and said, "Off to your puppy corner."

I blinked. Looked up, unsure if I'd misheard. She never called it that before.

She caught my confusion and smiled.

"What?" she asked, tilting her head. "You didn't think my puppy deserved a little space of its own?"

She stood, slowly, circling me.

"I thought it was rude making you sleep in den. So I renamed it. Now, it's your room. Your little corner. Doesn't that sound more fitting?"

She leaned close, voice soft and poisonous.

"Don't you like having your own space, puppy?"

I swallowed and nodded.

"Say thank you."

I bent down and kissed her feet.

"...Thank you, Mistress."

She kissed the top of my bowed head.

"Good boy. Off you go."

The Fall - Chapter 31:

I woke up with the scent of her still clinging to my face.

It was faint now, dried remnants of last night's arousal smudged across my cheek. She hadn't said a word when she smeared herself on me. Just used me, climaxed and walked away. Locked her bedroom behind her while I cleaned up the aftermath in silence.

And yet, I couldn't stop thinking about the evening before. How casually she had humiliated me in front of her friends. How they had laughed, believing every word she said and not knowing how true it really was. I had been gagged and leashed in the next room and they had joked about what they'd do for a man who even did half what I did. One of them said she'd give her husband all the sex in the world if he ever lifted a finger. And Mistress without flinching said I get to give her oral as a reward.

I had flushed in the dark. I had leaked onto the floor. I had come undone without a single touch.

And she knew.

She always knew.

I picked up the diary and began writing, carefully, deliberately documenting the shame, the arousal, the quiet thrill of being spoken about like a tool.

The buzzer pulsed suddenly inside me, making me twitch. My leash. My summons. I closed the diary and crawled quietly to her room.

She didn't even look at me at first. Her foot was already waiting outside the blanket, like she knew I'd be there. I kissed it softly. Then again. Then sucked her toes. I didn't want to stop. Maybe because she didn't push me away. Or maybe because I was craving something I didn't fully understand.

The morning unfolded quietly; chores, service, silent obedience. But sometime mid-afternoon, I slipped.

A simple mistake.

I forgot to wipe the bottom corner of the bathroom mirror.

When she checked, she said nothing. Just looked at me.

She clipped the leash to my collar and tugged it gently.

"Come."

She led me to the center of the living room. The blinds were closed but my heart still raced. She tied my wrists behind my back. Then circled around me slowly with her cane in one hand.

"We're going to try something new today." she said.

My breath quickened.

I looked at her, confused. "Mistress...?"

She didn't answer. Just pointed to the open floor space in the center of the room.

"Stand there. Chest up."

I obeyed, hesitant. My hands were bound. I felt exposed, off-balance, unsure of what was coming.

Then I saw the cane in her hand.

She stepped around me slowly. Calm. Poised. She wasn't furious. Studying me like a creature in training.

"You made a mistake today," she said. "It wasn't huge. But it was careless."

I wanted to explain. I almost did.

But she tapped the cane against her thigh once, a silent reminder.

I stayed silent. Swallowed.

She came to stand in front of me and spoke with cool precision:

"You're going to prance."

I blinked. "Mistress?"

"You heard me." She tapped the floor with her cane. "High knees. Hands bound. Back straight. Like a little show pony. You're going to learn what happens when you stop taking pride in how you serve."

I flushed. Humiliation burned through me. The very idea felt absurd, animalistic.

"Mistress, I..."

She didn't wait. The first strike of the cane landed across my thigh, sharp, unrelenting.

I gasped.

Another slap.

I staggered, breath catching in my throat.

The third didn't come. Instead, she walked in a slow, tight circle around me.

"You can be proud," she said softly. "Or you can be punished."

I began to prance. Clumsily at first. High knees, short strides, awkward in my nakedness and bound posture.

"Head up."

I corrected it.

"Posture, puppy. You think pets slouch?"

I tried.

"You prance like a tired mutt. Not a trained pony."

The shame hit hard.

She circled me like a predator, cane in hand, correcting everything with words and, when words didn't suffice, quick, stinging strikes.

When I stumbled, she didn't shout. She simply tapped the cane lightly against her palm and said, "Try again, puppy."

The word hit me harder than the cane had.

"You're a puppy," she said softly. "And you'll move how I want."

I couldn't speak. Not while moving. Not with the humiliation already thick in my throat.

But I kept prancing.

The absurdity of it made my skin burn. My cock, caged and heavy, bounced with every high step like a cruel reminder of my place.

She watched me. No longer circling. Just standing there, arms folded, eyes gleaming.

And slowly, I saw it, the arousal in her eyes.

This punishment wasn't about rage. It was about control. Refinement. Enjoyment.

She was turned on.

And when I realized that... I felt it too.

"You're leaking," she said softly. "Do you like this? Do you like being corrected like this?"

Shame and heat warred inside me. I was her pony. Her pet. A silly, naked thing being made to prance across the room and I was hard for it.

"Good posture," she said after a few more rounds. "Much better."

I didn't stop. I couldn't.

"Slower now."

I adjusted.

She walked toward me again. Brushed the tip of the cane down my chest gently. Not to hurt. Just to tease.

"Look at you," she murmured. "Obedient. Beautiful. Absurd. Exactly where you belong."

I swallowed, cheeks flushed, breath ragged.

"Stop."

I froze.

She stepped close again. Looked into my eyes.

She tapped her temple. "Right here. And I like how you're starting to respond."

I didn't reply. I just nodded once.

She untied my hands.

"Go clean yourself up," she said quietly. "And then finish your chores."

She looked pleased. Not just with the punishment but with herself.

And that turned me on even more.

She walked away.

I stood there, still trembling.

Shame. Arousal. Obedience.

And underneath it all... pride. Because I had pleased her.

And that meant everything.

The rest of the day passed in silence. She didn't mention it again. She didn't need to.

But when I laid down in the den that night, sore, leaking, aching, I realized I wasn't sure what had aroused me more.

The punishment itself...

Or the look in her eyes when she gave it.

The Fall - Chapter 30:

I woke up in the den, still tasting last night.

I had never eaten like that before. Not just from a bowl but from the floor, with her leftovers, like a real pet.

And when she nudged the bowl toward me with her foot... something shifted.

It was so casually done. No announcement. No emphasis. Just a simple nudge, the kind you'd give a dog when it was time to feed. But that movement, the sound of the ceramic scraping against the floor, the weight of her eyes on me, it humiliated me in a way nothing else had.

And yet... I had gotten hard.

Even as I lowered my face to the bowl. Even as I licked it clean. Even as my chest burned with shame.

That 'nudging the bowl towards me' was the moment that stayed with me. Like I wasn't even worth bending down for.

The humiliation of being treated like a pet. Not metaphorically. Not playfully. But plainly. Visibly.

And the worst part?

I was hard when I crawled to the bowl. I was leaking before I even took my first bite.

I wrote all of that in the diary, every feeling, every conflict.. I didn't resist. I simply... processed.

I didn't know what she would do with that knowledge. But I wanted her to know.

BUZZZ.

The buzzer went off inside me. A sharp pulse deep in my core. I snapped the diary shut, crawled out of the den and made my way to her room.

HER room.

She had called it her bedroom the other day, when she'd asked me to bring her scarf from it. I remembered how it landed; blunt and unthinking. She didn't say our bedroom. Just her bedroom.

I fetched the scarf, of course. But the words stayed with me.

I reached her bedside, kissed her feet softly and sucked her toes until she stirred. She made me hold there longer today and I didn't mind. I missed her more than usual.

She finally woke, stretched lazily and sent me off with a wave to prepare her coffee.

The day unfolded like the others; chores and instructions.

Later that day, she gave me a list of instructions. Her friends were coming over for dinner. A girls' night, she said.

I was to prep everything. The dining table. The wine. The food. Music. Napkins. Temperature. Lighting. It had to be perfect.

And when I had done it all, when the table was set, the food warmed and ready, the napkins folded just right, I went to her and let her know.

She smiled warmly, got up and brought my leash.

Without a word, she clipped the leash to my collar and led me to the den.

She didn't say much. Just tied my leash to the ring she'd had bolted into the floor last week. Then my hands behind my back. Then a gag; soft, tight, just enough to keep me silent.

She didn't say much.

Just a quiet, "Stay."

The door closed. Locked. The light flicked off.

I was alone in the dark.

After a while, I heard the front door open, heels clicking, laughter. I couldn't see her guests arrive but I recognized their voices. Friends of hers. Familiar. Unaware.

Wine was poured. Coats hung. Music low.

Someone asked, "Where's your man tonight?"

Mistress laughed lightly. "Oh, I kicked him out. Girls' night, remember?"

More laughter.

I swallowed hard, trying not to breathe too loud.

From my place in the den restrained, silenced, locked to the floor like a pet, I could hear everything.

Footsteps. Glasses clinking. The hum of conversation. The rhythm of heels tapping against tile.

The conversation moved quickly. Small talk. Catching up. Nothing unusual. Until someone complimented the setup.

"She really went all out," one of the women said. I recognized her voice, Meera, maybe. "This looks amazing."

"Oh, I didn't do any of it," Mistress replied, light and proud. "He did."

A pause. Then laughter, surprised and skeptical.

"Wait, are you serious?" another voice asked.

"Yes. All of it," she said. "I didn't lift a finger."

The reactions came fast.

"No way."

"Seriously?"

"You're joking."

Mistress chuckled. "I'm dead serious. Why would I give him credit if I did it?"

I winced in the dark, my cheeks already flushing. A sharp pulse of humiliation hit my chest.

One of them scoffed, "Wow. You're lucky then. My guy can't even open the dishwasher without whining about it."

Another added, "I'd be thrilled if mine did one chore without being asked. I'm tempted to start bribing him."

Laughter again.

Then a third voice joked, "Yeah. Like, 'Do the laundry and I'll give you a blowjob.'"

That's when Mistress said casually, "Well, in my house, it's the opposite."

There was a beat of silence.

"What do you mean?" someone asked, curiosity piqued.

"I mean," she said calmly, "he does all the laundry. I don't even know where the detergent is."

More reactions; sharp and incredulous.

"No way."

"Come on, that's impossible."

"I'm not exaggerating," she continued. "I don't even know where the mop is. Or the vacuum. He takes care of everything."

I could hear the disbelief. The baffled giggles.

Someone muttered, "That's wild."

Mistress's tone didn't change. "It took time. But I trained him well. Now... I just enjoy the results."

I could hear them all laughing; some in awe, some in disbelief, some perhaps even in envy.

And yet... in the dark, gagged and leashed, I felt myself throb against the cage.

She was doing it.

She was talking about me like I was a trained house-pet not explicitly but unmistakably. Every word sounded casual on the surface but I knew the truth beneath. She was humiliating me. Subtly. Brilliantly. And I couldn't do a thing but kneel there and listen to myself being discussed like a service animal she'd domesticated.

And then the fear came.

What if she went further?

What if she told them the truth?

That I was locked in the den like a dog, gagged, leashed, listening.

What if she wanted them to know?

My heart pounded.

Part of me dreaded that exposure. But another part... the one that pulsed inside the cage... ached for it. The idea of being unmasked. Of them seeing me like this; kneeling, broken, obedient.

I shook the thought off. Shame rolled in, hot and acidic.

Then I heard one of the women sigh.

"I swear," she said wistfully, "if my husband did even ten percent of what yours does, I'd give him all the sex in the world."

Laughter again.

And Mistress?

She didn't laugh.

She said, casually, "Oh, I do something like that."

More curious laughter. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she said, sipping, "when he's been especially good... I let him go down on me."

The room erupted with laughter, mock shock, teasing.

I closed my eyes, burning. My face was fire. My cock strained hard in the cage, leaking helplessly. I could feel the wetness pooling beneath me on the floor.

She had done it. Not by revealing our dynamic but by weaponizing it, wrapping it in plausible deniability, then parading it in front of others.

She used me.

And still, I throbbed with shameful arousal.

Eventually, the conversation shifted. Dessert. Music. Another round of wine.

Then the door opened, heels again, laughter fading into the hallway. Hugs. Goodbyes.

I heard the lock click again.

Moments later, the door to the den creaked open.

Light spilled in.

Mistress stood in the doorway.

Her eyes dropped immediately to the floor in front of me.

The puddle.

Her brow arched.

She said nothing, just stepped inside, knelt and unbuckled the gag from my mouth.

"You liked that, didn't you?" she whispered.

I didn't answer.

She leaned in. Her voice lower.

"You liked being reduced to nothing... while I praised you like a pet."

Then, without another word, she sat back on the mattress, spread her legs and pulled me forward by the leash.

"I'm wet," she said softly. "Because of you."

I didn't hesitate.

My mouth was on her instantly, tongue desperate, hands still tied behind me.

I licked. Worshipped. Pleasured.

She moaned quietly, softly, riding my face with slow precision until her hips trembled and she held me in place.

Her orgasm hit in waves. I felt it coat my tongue.

When she was done, she pulled back slowly and smeared her slick across my cheek with two fingers.

"My scent suits you," she said simply.

Then she untied my hands. Unclipped the leash.

"Clean everything," she ordered. "I'm going to bed."

She walked to her bedroom.

Closed the door.

I heard the lock click.

And once again, I was left alone on the floor, surrounded by her taste, her scent and the proof of my obedience soaking into the tile.

The Fall - Chapter 29:

I still remembered the movie.

Not the story. Not the plot. I never saw the screen. I wasn't allowed to.

I only remembered the sound of it playing while I knelt in front of her, facing her instead of the TV. Sucking her toes. Serving as her footrest. My spine straight, my eyes low. Every time I turned, even slightly, she reminded me of my place.

Not with yelling. Not even with anger. But with calm, deliberate slaps. With the tug of a leash. With words like:

"You're a puppy. Puppies don't watch movies without permission."

I wasn't her partner anymore. She hadn't said it outright but everything about the night made it clear. My job wasn't to enjoy her world. It was to be part of her comfort; a footrest, a tongue, a toy.

She showed me. In every moment. In every quiet, humiliating denial.

And yet... despite the sting, despite the humiliation, my cock had ached inside the cage the whole time. I had never felt so small. So reduced. So owned.

And what frightened me most was how much it worked. How deep it sank in. How right it felt.

I was beneath her. I didn't deserve to share her leisure. And still, I wanted to serve her. Even from the floor. Especially from the floor.

Just as those thoughts circled, the familiar buzz rang through my plug.

She wanted me. I dropped everything and crawled to her.

She was seated on the bed, legs crossed, a subtle smirk playing at her lips as I arrived and knelt.

She didn't look up from her book. Just spoke calmly:

"Make dinner."

I bowed my head and backed out on all fours.

In the kitchen, I moved quickly. Chopped, stirred, plated. I tried not to think about what came next. I had a feeling this wasn't just about food.

I served her as instructed; her plate warm, water chilled, napkin folded properly.

Once the meal was ready, I brought it to the dining table and placed it in front of her. She didn't thank me. She didn't need to. I knelt beside her chair, waiting in silence as she began to eat.

She didn't speak. She didn't glance at me. Just the sound of cutlery on porcelain, the occasional sip of wine. I watched her hands, her mouth, the way her fingers danced around the stem of the glass.

She finished her last bite slowly, then placed the fork down with a soft clink.

I waited beside her, kneeling. Expecting her to get up, like always.

That had been the routine: she would finish eating, rise from the table and only then, I'd quietly take my place in the kitchen, eat whatever was left behind, alone.

But this time, she didn't get up.

She sipped her wine, looked at me with a measured calm and said:

"Under the sink. Open the cabinet. Fetch what you find."

I blinked. A pause. Then obeyed.

Crawling to the cabinet, I opened it slowly. At first I didn't see anything unusual, then I spotted it.

There it was.

A stainless steel bowl. Heavy, unmistakable.

The word "Puppy" engraved in soft lettering across the side.

My stomach knotted. My heart sank. And yet... I grew hard.

I lifted it carefully and returned to her, kneeling once more.

She didn't take it from me. She just nodded to the ground.

"Place it on the floor."

I did.

She scraped the last bits of food into the bowl, then nudged it toward me with her foot casually.

"This is yours now," she said. "Your bowl."

I stared at it. Stainless steel. Low to the ground. The word "Puppy" engraved in bold, playful script. My stomach twisted.

"From now on, you eat from this. Only this."

She didn't look at me when she said it. Just swirled her wine like nothing had changed.

"You're not my equal anymore. You're my puppy. And puppies eat from the floor."

Her eyes finally met mine.

"Right, puppy?"

I couldn't speak. The shame was thick in my throat.

She waited a beat. Then another. Then she slapped me not with anger. Just enough to snap me out of it. Just enough to remind me of my place.

"Are you my puppy?" she asked again, more softly now but firmer.

I nodded but she didn't accept that. She reached out, took my chin in her hand and lifted my face.

"No nodding. Say it."

My mouth trembled. My lips parted. "Yes, Mistress. I'm your puppy."

"Are you beneath me?"

I hesitated. Her fingers gripped tighter under my chin.

Slap.

"Are you beneath me?" she repeated.

"Yes..."

"Say it properly."

I swallowed hard. "Yes, Mistress. I'm beneath you."

She didn't smile but something in her eyes softened.

"Are you my equal?"

My chest ached. I couldn't look away.

"No, Mistress. I'm not your equal."

She nodded, finally letting go of my chin.

"Good puppy. That's why you eat from a bowl now."

She nudged the bowl again with her foot, tilting it just slightly toward me.

Then came the command:

"Eat."

I bent down slowly, breath catching as my lips neared the cold steel rim of the bowl.

The scent of her leftovers. The weight of her words.

I wasn't hungry but I opened my mouth anyway.

Not because I wanted the food but because I wanted her to see me do it.

Each bite was slow. Humiliating. My face hovering over the floor. The bowl scraped slightly as I chewed, echoing in the stillness like a reminder of what I was.

She didn't say anything. Just stood above me and watched.

And when I looked up just briefly, she smiled.

Then came the pat.

Soft. Deliberate. On the top of my head.

"Good puppy," she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I swallowed the bite in my mouth. It tasted of shame and salt.

Then she turned and walked away.

And I stayed, kneeling, face over the bowl, chewing what was left of her dinner like it was the only thing I deserved.

Because it was.

The Fall - Chapter 28:

It had been over two weeks since I started sleeping in the den. She never brought it up again. Neither did I. Each night, I laid out my mattress quietly. The silence of it all, the unspoken permanence, was enough.

A few days earlier, she'd asked me to fetch her robe. "It's in my bedroom," she had said casually, without emphasis. But not "the bedroom." Not "our bedroom." My bedroom.

It landed heavier than any slap. A quiet declaration of change. A shift in ownership. In identity.

And I had obeyed, of course, crawling to fetch it without a word. But inside, I was squirming. The humiliation of being pushed further down, of losing even the shared language of the room we once called ours... it stung. It burned.

And still, my cock twitched in its cage.

That evening, the plug buzzed inside me.

I set down the sponge mid-scrub and crawled immediately, not even drying my hands. I still didn't know how she always timed it perfectly, maybe cameras, maybe just instinct but she always buzzed me at moments where obedience required interruption. And I obeyed.

She was in the living room, curled up on the couch, a soft throw over her legs. The TV was paused on a movie screen, a movie I had once told her I was excited to watch with her. The image hit me with a tiny, electric burst of hope.

But when she saw me, she didn't pat the couch. She simply tilted her chin downward, a silent command to kneel.

I obeyed, sinking into place on the rug before her.

"Face me," she said.

I blinked. "Mistress?" I had meant to say nothing but the confusion slipped out.

Her thumb tapped the remote. The movie began to play.

I turned, slowly, deliberately not to look at the screen but to face her knees, as she had ordered. Her bare legs stretched toward me, smooth and poised.

Then came her foot, settling gently in my lap.

"Suck," she said without looking at me.

I took her toes into my mouth, warm and soft. My hands stayed clasped behind my back. I worshipped in silence.

But I could hear it. The music. The voices. The dialogue I remembered from the trailer.

My cock stirred, not just from the taste of her but from the sound of something I once would have called "ours." Now it was hers. And I wasn't watching. I was sucking. That was my role now.

I shifted slightly, without thinking, just enough to try to catch a flicker of light from the screen.

SLAP.

Her other foot struck my cheek, sharp and fast.

"Eyes on me," she said calmly.

I whimpered around her toes. My cock ached in its cage.

"Puppies don't get to watch television unless their owner decides so," she added, almost lazily. "Are you my equal? Did you think this was a date night?"

I shook my head quickly. "N-no, Mistress."

She smiled. Her other foot rested on my shoulder now.

"You're my puppy. And puppies don't get screen time. They serve."

My face flushed again. Her toes filled my mouth, pressing against my tongue. I moaned softly and the sound made her chuckle.

Minutes passed.

The movie continued.

"Go bring me my lip balm," she said, without looking at me. "It's on the side table in my bedroom."

My stomach turned at the mention of 'my bedroom' again. She said it like it was obvious. Like it had never been mine. I nodded and crawled away, the sting of her slap still blooming on my cheek and her words echoing louder than the hit.

Once I came back, she took the lip balm from my hands without paying any attention to me and placed her foot in my lap again.

A familiar scene played, I could tell by the music. The scene I'd been most excited for.

Again, instinct took over. I glanced; a twitch, barely a flick of my eyes.

SLAP.

After the second slap, she paused the movie.

"Bring me your leash, puppy."

I crawled away to fetch it, cheeks still stinging. When I returned, I held it in both hands and bowed my head. She took it without a word, clipped one end to my collar and wrapped the other loosely around her wrist.

"In case you forget your place again," she said, eyes still on the screen. "This way I won't have to pause the movie to remind you."

I held still for longer this time. Focused. Submissive.

But then without thinking, a third slip. Just a slight lean forward. A subconscious tilt of my head toward the screen.

The leash snapped tight.

She yanked me back sharply and delivered a backhanded slap across my cheek, harder this time, unforgiving.

"You keep forgetting," she said, her tone flat but loaded. "That screen isn't for you."

She paused for a moment.

And then, her voice soft but clear:

"Try that again and I'll put a blindfold on you every time you're in my presence."

I stopped moving entirely.

The movie kept playing. Laugh tracks. Dialogue. Everything I couldn't have.

And all I could do was kneel, suck and ache.

She leaned back, comfortable, powerful.

"You're getting better at remembering your place," she said gently while tugging on my leash, almost to herself. "But sometimes your body forgets. That's why we train it."

I moaned again, part shame, part arousal.

"You like this, don't you? Being my puppy."

I couldn't deny it.

I just nodded.

"Good." she whispered.

She kept me there until the credits rolled. Then, she unclipped the leash from my collar and casually said:

"You may go."

I kissed both her feet before backing away, head down. My knees ached. My lips were sore. My cock had leaked again into the cage.

I had missed the entire movie.

But I had served.

The Fall - Chapter 27:

I woke up colder than I used to.

Not freezing. Just... different. The blanket in the den didn't hold warmth the way her bedroom floor did. There was no familiar scent of her lingering nearby. Just silence.

It wasn't misery. Just a subtle ache.

But this was what I'd chosen. Or rather, what had been offered. Twenty-five points per night, ten more than sleeping on the floor beside her. And with the new penalties in place, every point mattered.

So I adapted.

I got up early, earlier than usual and picked up the diary. There was a lot I needed her to know. I wrote about the quiet. About the shift I was starting to feel inside me.

I finished writing just before the buzz.

It came low and steady, deep inside me. My plug now wired to her will humming like a leash. Not a reminder. A command.

I crawled toward her room, cock already twitching inside its cage not because of the vibration but because of what it meant. I wasn't being called like a man. I was being summoned like a pet.

And that thought alone made my breath catch.

She was still in bed when I arrived, half-curled beneath the sheet, her foot exposed just enough.

I kissed it. Slowly. Gently.

Then I sucked her toes, one at a time lingering. Not for show, not for points. But because I missed her. I missed the nearness. The scent. The warmth of being beside her instead of several rooms away.

I sucked for longer than usual. Letting my tongue trace the arch of her foot, my lips press along her toes like they were sacred. I hoped she noticed. I wanted her to.

She stirred eventually, stretching just slightly.

"Coffee," she murmured without opening her eyes.

I kissed the top of her foot once more, a silent thank-you for the contact and turned to crawl toward the kitchen.

The day had begun.

The first few nights in the den felt foreign. The mattress was thinner. The walls unfamiliar.

Every night still ended the same: me kneeling before her in silence, plugged and naked, waiting at her feet until she closed her book, looked down and simply said, "Bed."

That one word sent me off to the den to make my bed, a ritual that began as a quiet shock and, within days, became muscle memory. At first, I hesitated, made small unconscious delays. But eventually, I stopped thinking about it. I just obeyed.

I still woke up every morning aching. Still wrote in the diary. Still crawled to her room to kiss her feet and bring her coffee, the rituals unchanged. But the nights were colder now. I went to sleep alone, in another room, like a servant dismissed after duty.

And it wasn't just the distance that had changed. I was losing points now too.

Not because I was slacking but because her standards had sharpened like blades. A fold slightly off, a corner not aligned, a streak left on the counter, ten points gone. And always the cane.

The den became necessary. The twenty-five points I earned each night were no longer a bonus, they were a lifeline. Without them, I couldn't keep up.

And the points were harder to earn now. With the added penalties for imperfect tasks, I lost nearly as often as I gained. But I kept going. Sleeping in the den bought me time. I chipped away, day after day.

And tonight, finally, I reached 530.

Thirty-five days. That's how long it took.

She didn't make a ceremony out of it. Just noted it with a faint smile when she checked the log.

"Kneel."

I obeyed.

She tied my hands behind my back, slow and practiced. But this time, she didn't gag me.

I noticed it. Of course I did.

But I didn't say a word.

She stood in front of me, calm as ever, looking me over. Her phone rested beside her, the timer app already open.

She knelt in front of me, unlocked and removed the cage.

"If you want to cum," she said. "you're going to show me how desperate you are for it."

Her eyes didn't blink. "If you aren't desperate enough, you don't get to cum. Do you understand?"

I nodded, throat dry. "Yes, Mistress."

She began stroking. Steady. Cruel. Her eyes didn't leave my face.

The first edge came fast. Too fast.

I moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

"Look at me," she said, still stroking. "Are you my puppy?"

My breath caught. I opened my mouth but the words wouldn't come. She had called me her puppy so many times but saying it out loud, claiming it myself, still caught somewhere between shame and truth.

She slowed her hand, almost stopped.

My face flushed. My heart pounded. Shame flooded my chest.

"...Yes, Mistress," I whispered. "I'm your puppy."

She gave a single sharp slap across my face.

"Louder."

"I'm your puppy," I said again, voice trembling.

She smiled. Not kindly.

"Good boy."

Then she let go. The orgasm didn't come. Just the emptiness.

I gasped, trying to calm my breathing.

Before I could fully settle, her hand returned.

The second edge was worse. I was already so close. I felt like I was leaking from the cage like a faucet.

She watched me carefully, then stopped again, just before I tipped over.

My head dropped.

"You're dripping already," she said, amused. "Like a pathetic little faucet."

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

Then her voice sharpened.

"Say it. Say you're my prejac puppy."

I blinked, breath catching. The words wouldn't come.

She stopped everything. Pulled her hand away completely. The sudden emptiness was torture.

She just looked at the timer in her hand and said, almost gently:

"I have all the time in the world, puppy. But you don't. Every second is ten points."

My eyes widened. Panic bloomed in my chest.

"I..." My voice cracked.

She said nothing. Just waited.

"...I'm your prejac puppy."

She didn't react.

"Again," she said, beginning to stroke.

"I'm your prejac puppy," I said louder.

"Good boy," she murmured. Her hand sped up.

"Again."

"I'm your prejac puppy."

Her stroking became merciless, not even rhythm, just need. I couldn't hold it anymore. My thighs trembled, my breath caught.

Just before I climaxed, she let go completely and slapped me; one, two, three, four until the orgasm hit.

I came, twitching helplessly, whimpering as the release tore through me under her relentless slaps.

My body jerked. My face stung. My cock pulsed uselessly into the air as she caught the cum with her hand.

She hadn't let it fall.

I looked up.

Her expression was calm. Focused.

Still kneeling, I opened my mouth to speak, maybe to thank her but she raised one hand not in warning, just instruction and said softly:

"Open your mouth, puppy."

My breath caught again.

I hesitated, just a second too long.

Her eyes narrowed.

"I won't repeat myself."

My throat went dry. Shame and confusion tangled in my chest but I obeyed. Slowly. Mouth open. Eyes wide.

She brought her fingers to my lips, warm, wet, streaked with the thick mess of my own ruined climax.

"Good boy," she said, almost sweetly.

Then she pressed her fingers into my mouth.

I tasted myself.

Salty. Warm. Bitter.

She didn't let me close my lips. She held them there, rubbing the slick gently over my tongue, across my teeth. Letting me feel it. Letting me know.

"You're such a good little prejac puppy," she whispered.

I whimpered, tongue moving without thought, licking her fingers as she fed it to me.

When it was gone, when I had swallowed it all, she withdrew her hand and finally untied my wrists.

Then her tone shifted, soft but final.

"And no eating or drinking until I say so. I want the taste of this to stay with you."

I nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

Then she brought the timer in front of my face.

69 seconds.

She smiled.

"Time to thank me, puppy."

I lowered my head and kissed her feet.

"Again."

I kissed them again. Longer this time. Slower.

She watched in silence for a moment, then gave a light pat to my head.

"You may go clean yourself."

I stood, still trembling. But before I turned away, I heard her voice again not cruel, just commanding.

"And puppy..."

I turned.

She met my eyes.

"Next time, you'll beg to be fed."

The Fall - Chapter 26:

It could happen anytime while I was folding laundry, scrubbing the bathroom floor, or slicing vegetables in the kitchen. As soon as the plug inside me vibrated, I stopped whatever I was doing and went to her. No questions. No hesitation.

Sometimes I had to search the house because I didn't know where she was. That didn't matter. That wasn't the point.

She didn't need to call my name anymore. She didn't even need to speak. I wasn't summoned like a man. I wasn't addressed with words, or treated like someone who deserved to be looked for. I wasn't sought. I was tugged on silently, efficiently like a pet summoned by its leash.

And that was what made me hard.

It wasn't the vibration itself. It wasn't the sensation. It was what it meant.

That it was a leash. And she was pulling.

That she could summon me without speaking. That I was beneath words now... beneath names. That she didn't have to find me, she could make me find her. That I was her puppy... her property.

And I liked that it was invisible. No one else could see it. But she could activate it at will, tug my leash from across the house and I'd come crawling.

Like I did that afternoon. She summoned me and I came crawling.

She inspected the laundry I had folded and placed on the dresser. She said nothing at first. Just paused. Then, with quiet finality, she said:

"Do it again."

I turned, startled. "Mistress..."

She cut me off with a single look.

"I said, do it again."

I obeyed, refolding each item with careful precision. But I had already failed. She didn't shout. She didn't even raise her voice. She simply ordered me to the center of the room and fetched the cane.

"Hands on the edge of the bed."

I did as told.

The first strike landed hard. The second sharper, more deliberate. I gasped but I didn't flinch the way I used to.

She noticed.

The third stroke was harsher. Precise. Testing.

By the fourth, she stopped.

"You're not trembling like you used to," she said quietly, standing just behind me. "You've gotten used to this."

I shook my head without thinking, desperate but I didn't dare speak. I hadn't been given permission.

She stepped around me slowly, her eyes studying me like a puzzle that wasn't behaving properly.

"No," she murmured to herself. "This isn't working anymore."

Then, to me calm and clear, like a decision had been made:

"If the cane alone isn't making you try harder... maybe I need to raise the stakes."

Her voice wasn't angry. Not mocking. Just flat. Final.

"From now on," she said, "every task that doesn't meet my standards will cost you ten points. In addition to the cane."

My heart dropped.

I stayed still. I had to.

She raised the cane again - six more strokes. Harder now. Not reckless. Controlled. Like she was reclaiming something.

Then she leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear.

"I know how much you crave those points," she whispered. "Let's see if this brings the fear back."

And then she walked away.

That night, after dinner, I knelt before her as part of the nightly ritual. Naked. Plugged. Silent. Legs apart. Hands behind my back.

She was reading again. I waited patiently, her feet in front of me, close, commanding. I wanted to speak. I needed to.

But I couldn't.

Not without permission.

So I kissed her feet.

Softly.

Then I waited.

She didn't look at me immediately. She turned a page. Took a breath. Then finally, she spoke:

"You may speak."

I looked up.

"Mistress..." My voice caught. "It's going to be very difficult to reach 530 points now... with the new penalties..."

I didn't finish the sentence. I didn't ask for anything. Just let the need hang in the air.

She closed her book and looked down at me. Her expression unreadable.

Then she hummed, thinking or at least pretending to.

"I could show you mercy," she said after a long pause. "I could offer something that helps you."

My heart lifted. Just slightly.

She tapped her fingers on the book for a few seconds.

"Sleeping on the floor by my bed earns you 15 points," she said thoughtfully. "But what if I let you earn more...?"

I stayed quiet. Hoping. Fearing.

She looked straight into my eyes.

"You can choose to sleep in the den. It's colder. Further. Even less intimate than this already is. But it'll earn you 25 points per night."

I froze.

"It's entirely up to you." she added and I knew it wasn't.

I didn't respond. Not yet. I just lowered my eyes again and kissed her foot.

She didn't speak after that. She just returned to her book.

And I stayed there kneeling, reeling, knowing full well it wasn't really a choice at all.

I knew exactly what she was doing.

She knew I still feared the cane. But she pretended I didn't just so she could justify reintroducing the point penalties.

She knew I'd come crawling for mercy. Knew I'd beg for a way to earn more points. That was always part of her design.

And when she floated the den as if it were a kindness, she said it like an act of mercy. A gentle solution. But it wasn't mercy. It was strategy.

She was reinforcing my role as her pet.

And I knew it. I saw through it all.

And still... my cock twitched inside its cage.

The humiliation of being played so precisely... the way she choreographed my desperation... the fact that she had predicted my every response, it turned me on. There was no escape and maybe I didn't want one.

She played me like an instrument.

And I responded exactly as expected.

Her manipulation didn't just control me.

It aroused me.

And just as she'd planned...

Later that night, I found myself laying out my mattress, my pillow in the den, choosing the distance and isolation, for a mere ten extra points.

I knew exactly what she was doing.

And I did it anyway.

The Fall - Chapter 25:

I woke up with her scent still on my face.

It had dried there overnight; a faint, musky smear along my cheek and upper lip. I didn't want to wash it off. Not yet. I licked my lips once, just to taste her again. My cock twitched uselessly in its cage. That dull, caged ache was becoming familiar now, a morning rhythm of its own.

I sat up on my floor blanket quietly and picked up the diary. I had woken early on purpose. I needed more time. There was a lot I wanted her to know or maybe things I didn't want to carry alone anymore.

The memory of the night before still pulsed through me. The way she had climaxed on my tongue. The way she had grabbed my hair, her palm slapped my face, her voice pushed me deeper. The way she smeared her juices across my face after; proud, casual, generous and called it a reward.

And I had thanked her.

If I were her equal, it wouldn't have been a reward. I would've expected her to reciprocate. But I wasn't her equal anymore. I was her puppy. Her toy. Her thing. And as her puppy, it was indeed a reward. Somehow, the truth of that made my breath quicken with arousal.

I somehow felt content being her pet, her puppy.

I wasn't proud of that. I didn't even know if I liked what it said about me. But it turned me on. That was the truth. And I hated how badly I wanted more.

I didn't write out of obligation this morning or I feared punishment. I wrote because I wanted her to see it all; the longing, the shame, the confused hunger I couldn't seem to shake. Maybe she already knew. But I needed her to use it. I needed her to make sense of it for me.

The plug in my ass began to buzz soft, rhythmic.

7:00 a.m. Time.

I crawled toward the bed, slow and silent. I kissed her feet gently, then took her toes into my mouth, worshiping them one by one. This was the rhythm now. This was how each day began.

She stirred. "Coffee," she murmured, not even opening her eyes.

"Yes, Mistress," I whispered and rose immediately.

The day passed as it always did, rituals, cleaning, quiet service. Nothing unusual. I was in the kitchen in the afternoon, halfway through slicing vegetables, when I felt it.

The plug buzzed again.

But it wasn't 7:00 a.m. It wasn't morning. It wasn't time.

I froze. The knife paused mid-air.

My first thought was that something had malfunctioned. Or that I had forgotten some new rule. But I couldn't think of any. Still, the feeling inside me was clear: a signal. A call.

I turned off the stove and wiped my hands. I didn't hesitate long.

I went to her immediately.

She was seated on the living room couch, reading. Calm. Like nothing unusual had occurred. But when she saw me, she didn't look surprised.

"Something wrong?" she asked, still glancing at her book, almost absently.

I dropped to my knees in front of her.

"My plug buzzed, Mistress. But it wasn't the usual time. I didn't know what to do."

Now she looked down.

She smiled slow, satisfied. "Good. That means it worked."

My face must've shown my confusion. She set her book aside with quiet finality and leaned forward slightly, eyes on mine.

She tapped something on the screen, then held it out so I could see. A glowing Summon button pulsed softly on the app.

"I enabled a new feature," she said. "Now, when I want you, I don't need to call your name. I don't need to raise my voice. Or go looking for you like some equal roommate."

She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing with subtle amusement.

"Tell me, puppy... are you my equal?"

My throat went dry. I opened my mouth but nothing came out at first. My face flushed. The answer was obvious but saying it, admitting it, still cost something. I looked down not in defiance but because I couldn't bear her gaze just then.

She waited, saying nothing.

The silence made it worse. I could feel her eyes on me, studying me, not impatient, not angry, just... amused. Pleased, even. She was watching me squirm and she liked it.

When I still didn't answer, she spoke again soft, sweet, deliberate.

"I asked you a question. Are you my equal?"

The gentleness in her tone didn't make it easier. It made it worse.

I swallowed hard. My voice finally came, low and raw. "No, Mistress."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across her lips. Her eyes lingered on me with something close to affection but with full awareness of her power.

"Mmm," she hummed. "That's what I thought."