THE DOGS
Chapter 7
HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT SIX: Discipline is an incredibly important part of owning a slave. And its fair to wonder—why bother to discipline a girl? She does whatever I ask.
The person you are disciplining is yourself.
If she misbehaves, it is because you did not provide firm, clear orders. Disciplining a wayward girl—whether it be through spanking, leashing, or other means—is a form of SELF-DISCIPLINE. And that is incredibly important. It is very easy to lose self-discipline when a dedicated sex slave is obeying your every whim.
Be critical and be rigorous. Has she gained weight without your permission? Look in the mirror. Chances are, you’re also getting chubby. Is the bathroom dirty? Clean the mirror, and look again!
Put her over your knee. Tell her to confess every way she has been bad. And as you spank her think—how can I do better?
The most shocking moment of Cass’ life was shortly after the wedding, when she was not completely reduced to servitude.
She’d dozed in his car, overcome and dripping and sticky, in a rash of maybe-dreams about her new life with a collar. A medley of the old, sexy dreams about being summarily used, her throat a release valve, but with Owen firmly in charge in all scenarios. Now it was all Owen, taking her in a variety of positions, while she tried to get chores done. Mostly from behind, so he could watch her tits bounce. Always Owen, exactly Owen’s height, her dreams calibrated to his body, his scent, his needs. It was all she could do to use his first name, and not a simpering and menial “Master”.
She’d dreamed about the dog bowl, and, while she dozed, her pussy dripped and drooled.
And then she’d woken up, and he’d dropped her off at her house. Instead of grabbing her by the throat, tugging on her collar, and sternly Ordering her to SERVE. Formally making her his pet.
He’d even walked her to the door, like people did.
“Nighty-night,” he’d told her. He’d kissed her on the forehead. The fucking forehead!
Probably because her face was sticky with his cum, but still. The man had collared her, felt her up and down on the dance floor, been privy to the final submission of her new friends, spooged all over her face, built in her a deep and lasting bond of obedience, and then respectfully dropped her off at her house.
It wasn’t even that late. She hadn’t even missed curfew.
Afterwards Cass had gone inside and just laid on the bed and felt—a lot. But mostly confusion.
Just to see if she could, she’d picked up pencil and pen and tried to write ‘MEN ARE CONFUSING’. But she was too far gone, too enmeshed in Submission to take the most mild shot at the better, stronger, all-around cooler gender. At most she could do ‘MEN ARE SUCH MEN’ which was a true statement, at least.
He’d texted her after he got back:
O: i found what you dropped in the car.
O: lets talk later.
O: you don’t have to wear the collar
She had read and re-read this a few hundred times. Cass had no idea what she’d dropped in the car. More importantly, it was totally unthinkable to remove her collar. HER collar. It was like it had been wrapped around her throat for a hundred years. The most she could manage, forcing her shivering fingers to the latch, was to make it a scooch less tight.
She’d nearly cried afterwards, feeling like the worst girl in the world, for daring to loosen it, so she didn’t get rashes.
It was like she had an iceberg inside herself, and what was left of Cass was slippery, fluid, sliding around it. It was too late, she was too far gone. No, she thought ten minutes later. She was still fighting, still herself. And then, ten minutes after that: I’m a puppy girl slave, aren’t I? Yay woof arf.
It went on like that for some time.
After that she’d run through her entire wardrobe to see how she looked with her new accessory. Not to mention her titties. It was hard to imagine covering them up again. They had to be out and about. They’d been played with and fondled. There was no returning to staid grey sweaters. Cass had put heavy and sustained thought into what she would wear, now that she was boob-forward and cuffed around the throat. What would Owen appreciate? Flirty, playful, and fun, that seemed fitting. She needed plaid skirts, and navel-baring tops, and earrings and bangles and bracelets.
She’d never wear a turtleneck, or a scarf, ever again.
Finally, late in the night, or early in the morning, she’d taken photo after photo of herself, her new self, the one that shivered at the thought of Master. The one with just a few scraps of modesty left, with a few stray thoughts of ‘hey, all that actually happened was you got a choker and blew your boyfriend.’ It was hard to fit her slit, and her collar, and her boobs into one shot, but she managed.
Cass woke up with her phone tilted on a pile of notebooks, on the floor, totally drained of battery. She had blacked out. It had all been too much. She plugged her phone in, waited, her hand shaking, until it turned on, and picked a photo to send. With what modicum of modesty she could summon Cass picked one that didn’t actually have pussy or nipples in it. It was heavy on collar, and with a lot of creamy, vanilla-colored tits. And she was licking her lips.
Cass sent it and waited.
He didn’t respond.
Not a single reactive emoji.
Then he texted ‘see you at couple counseling’.
And then she didn’t hear from mast—master—her ma—from OWEN for two fucking days.
When he finally arrived to pick her up she was on the front stoop.
Owen wore his black and blue button-down, with his other pair of blue jeans. She knew Owen well enough now to put together patterns, and one of them was, he owned three nice shirts, and two pairs of jeans. The one pair of shoes.
“Hey,” he said. Owen looked solemn “You’re still wearing the collar?”
She stared at him.
It had been a pretty rough two days.
Mostly she’d spent it with the virus raging at her, furious, confused. This was definitely her fault that he wasn’t following up with treats, and a new bed, and a tasteful leather leash. It was because she wasn’t worth it. He’d gotten her best—her mouth, and her chest, and her neck—and it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t good enough for him. She hadn’t measured up to the high standards of Assistant Band Director Owen, and rightfully so.
Alyssa had tactfully decided to stay out of her way. Breakfast was quietly left for her on the table.
In spite of how struck down she felt, body bereft, breasts needing more touches, neck claimed and yet unclaimed, Cass kept eating. She walked around the house, ceaseless, the collar tugging at her skin and bouncing up and down. She couldn’t summon up the strength to text him—a complex matter of some bits of self-respect, but mostly a general sense that she hadn’t earned it.
“I’m still wearing the collar,” Cass said. She stood up. “Do you want it back?”
It was such a hard question, and she needed to ask it. For once the Virus had been helpful. It wouldn’t even let her picture a world where he said ‘yes’, so she was able to force it out of her mouth.
She’d tried “do you still want me?” and could not do it, not even in the mirror. Not anywhere.
“Do you WANT to wear it?” Owen said. “I’ll take it off, if you want.”
“Do I.... no. No, you can leave my collar on. The collar on. Your collar on.”
Cass didn’t say anything. There was still fight in her, somehow. But not this. She didn’t have her own wants. She held her collar, protectively. Removing it felt like cutting off an arm.
She hadn’t even thought he’d show up. It turned out there was something worse than being a collared obedient slave. And something worse than being a collared obedient slave that wasn’t even wanted. It was being 95% of a collared obedient slave, but also 5% a nonoobedient nonslave, and who was also unwanted.
That was the worst, it turned out.
She’d tried hard to back down her nearly overflowing Submission Index.
In the middle of day one Cass had duly watched her meditation videos, but they seemed cold, empty, pointless. Ms. Anthropy was a girl who hadn’t gotten her tits properly fondled, who hadn’t felt the clasp of a collar sliding closed around her neck. All the entreaties that “it’s just an engineered virus” felt hollow. True. But so what? When Submission burned in every vein, dripping between her legs, drooling out of her open mouth, making her heart beat, why look for anything else?
She’d spent a lot of time wondering if she should shave her pubic hair off. In her bible, IS IT REALLY OKAY FOR AN OTHERWORLDER LIKE ME TO OWN A PUPPY GIRL SLAVE?, the sacred texts were unclear. Akane-san’s snatch was always heavily censored. As a puppy girl it seemed logical that she’d be a little hairy. But outside of the shaggy hair, and the tail, and the ears, she was perfectly smooth. In desperation Cass had broken out of Girl-Safe Internet and found her way to the official forums for Puppy Girl Slave, to see if they had answers. And there was a thread on it, but it involved men, arguing with each other, and had just left her dizzy and confused.
In the end she’d left her pubes, but at least smoothed them out. And of course shaved the rest of herself down.
The girl in the mirror was not Akane-san, but she did have big boobs. And Cass realized, with a delicious, illicit thrill, that her own hair was going from black to brown. The roots were brown. Just like her puppy girl heroine.
It was happening. She checked her butt for the stub of a tail, just in case. Nothing. So far.
On day two, Owen-less, she’d tried hard to get her self-worth back. Cass had tried to leverage against the big heavy rock named Owen that sat in her head, and around her neck. She wasn’t going to be his dutiful sex slave, because he didn’t want her to be, right? So in a way, she’d argued with herself, she was obeying him by NOT obeying him. He hadn’t even texted a simple ‘hey, slave’. Or ANY emojis.
She’d mouthed the words of the Free Woman mantra, that she had a will, and she would find a way. She’d read her Personality Journal, with all its previous invective towards men. She’d tried to be her own woman. She’d made heroic efforts.
Then, with three hours left to go until Couple Therapy, she’d dressed up for him. She’d snuck into her Mom’s closet. This was legendary in the town. It had four heavy cabinets. The first one Cass opened was bondage gear, all neatly sorted. Luckily the second one held cute frilly skirts. Cass picked one in black and white plaid, and paired it with an old white polo that now didn’t fit her titties.
Out of self-respect, she wore her usual panties. And also wine-red lipstick and mascara and blush, and she’d styled her hair to how she’d had it senior year of High School. And she’d practiced blowjobs on her dildo, marveling at how deep down her throat it could go. Submission urged it even farther—this was her last chance, it told her. She was lucky Owen was even showing up again.
She looked pretty exactly like Akane in Chapter 77 of PUPPY GIRL SLAVE, when they all went to the magic school academy for very flimsy reasons.
He hadn’t taken her collar off. He’d shown up. He’d shown up for her.
Cass sniffled. God. Now she was having emotions, instead of sucking his dick.
She really was the worst sex slave there was.
“Ready to roll?” Owen said. He tipped her chin up, and frowned. Oh no, he’d noticed. Cass had tried to wipe them clean, but her eyes were still wet. “You, uh, okay? Within reason? We can get through this. Hey. I’m wearing it.”
She hadn’t even noticed. BAD GIRL, Cass told herself. Owen was wearing her pin. Her white knight brooch. It rode high on his chest. It looked silly on his casualwear.
“You’re—you’re wearing the brooch.” Cass said. It was hard to the jewelry. Why had she even bought it, again? “Oh. I’ll be—sorry, sir, it’s—look, can you... just tell me I’m okay? Order me happy. That’ll do the trick.”
Remaining bits of will fought back at this—too servile, too much. Sure, she was fast becoming a slutty puppy girl companion, attuned to his needs, but she could still do it with some dignity.
“So, you’re not okay. What’s wrong?” and then: “tell me what’s wrong.” Owen said. Damn it, she thought, while her libido revved up. She did want to tell him. Telling him meant she mattered, and although she didn’t, she was just a pussy, she was a bad facsimile of a poorly-written manga character, it still felt fun to pretend.
“Ah, the wedding, you know,” Cass said, keeping it light and conversational. “It was—you know. Kind of emotionally intense for me. Both my new friends got turned into sex toys and then you, well, you know.”
Belatedly it occurred to Cass to check in on Bella and Melody. She hadn’t thought of them at all. There was so little room around the portrait of Owen in her head, the one lit in neon, that flashed MASTER over and over.
Owen tilted his head. He was surprised at how upset she was.
“Uh?” Owen said.
“Yeah, so,” Cass said. How to word this? “You put a collar on me and then I sucked your dick for the first time. That creates a... uhhh.. really strong pair bond?” Yes, that was the way to put it. Like she was a golden retriever, or a baby bird. “Really really really really really strong. Like, I look at you, and I see,”
She pantomimed an explosion. A godlike being.
Cass tried to think: and you MUST’VE known this, right? She couldn’t. All that was closed off. Any sort of recrimination, or sarcastic remark. Anything with Owen was a simpering, soppy wetness. She wanted to lick his face, and get pets on the head.
She’d watched ten hours of a doggy-themed Vtuber, with the ears and the tail and the bone-shaped collar. She’d jerked off to an old stream of puppy girl playing Monster Hunter.
Cass could manage a factual statement. “And then I didn’t hear from you for TWO DAYS?”
She looked into his eyes and felt lucky. These were the eyes that owned her, mostly. She read his puzzlement, his guilt, his confusion. Now that she knew Owen, was Owen’s, she had a few insights. They were terrible, awful ones, and occurred to her anyway.
He’d found her pin and thought—oh no. I’ve forgotten my knightly vow, to be her protector. I need to leave her alone. She is my princess, in her tower. He’d left her alone, for her.
He’d backed off for HER. He’d done it for her. For the most disobedient of dogs. Two days, noble, his dick unsucked, his needs unmet, for her.
It was so sweet and awful.
Owen shifted his feet. They stood in her front yard, miserable. “Yeahhhhh,” Owen said. He was newly shaven, and rubbed his chin. “I felt like that night did get... intense. And then I found your pin and I thought... I fucked up. I fucked up bad. I figured a couple of days cooldown would be good for us. You know. Get your head together. Regroup. All that.”
Cass didn’t think: my master-owner is a damn goofy goober.
It was impossible, now. She wanted to stick his cock in her mouth, or pussy, or ass. She wanted to talk a long walk in the park. She wanted to clean his room. She wanted to smell his smell, and to smell like him. The most she could summon was a tiny tinge of embarrassment at how grateful she was. He wasn’t mad at her at all. He’d wanted her to collect her thoughts, and had no idea she didn’t really have any besides: Owen.
And he hadn’t made her fully submit. He had not. His friends had—Bella was a toy and Melody was a drooling pussy.
“But... I... am now seeing... that this may have been a bad idea, and I fucked up yet again,” Owen concluded, eyeing his agitated, badly-shook slave. He let out a long, frustrated breath. The good news, the virus told her, was he didn’t blame her. He didn’t see her as a person anymore, thank god. He saw her as an object. She was a puzzle for him to solve, that was all, not an individual he had to respect.
That was a relief.
“Tell you what. Give me a smack.”
“A what?” Cass frowned.
“Slap. ?” Owen looked around. “Can you.. can you still do that?” He was getting more upset now. He’d thought he was doing the right thing, and wasn’t. It was horrible, alarming. “What can you still do? Where are you in—this? Two days ago you had this pin! That was two days ago!”
Cass wasn’t sure what he was talking about.
She was his puppy dog slave, generally, almost entirely, with a few caveats.
“You can’t, can you?” Owen said, softly. “You can’t.”
Owen waded in and completely redeemed himself, by giving her the greatest gift a girl could get. He hugged her. Girls never got hugs anymore. There were more blowjobs than hugs. He put his big arms around her, and squeezed. She made sure to rub her boobs on his chest, but mostly Cass just soaked in it. She smelled like him again, and all was well.
She loved him so much. Please, enslave me, she didn’t say. She’d never say it. The virus couldn’t make her. It couldn’t. Cass knew she didn’t have much of a personality, but what was left, was a fighter.
“I guess we really do need couple’s therapy,” he told her, and patted her on the head. “Shoot, I’m sorry. The wedding was... a lot... for me too. We’re going to do this together. We’re still fighting. I did miss you. Listen. I’m not going to do it. You’re—you’re good the way you are. This is as far as anyone should have to go. Okay? Okay, Cass?”
“Yep,” Cass said. She was so lucky to have this man. Submission and her agreed, assuming there was still a her. “Hey, I was wondering if I should shave my pussy. I felt like it could go either way with you.”
He didn’t seem to like the question.
“Okay, but why are you here?” Cass said. “You’re done, right?”
“Gosh, Cass, we’re still friends,” Bella-doll said. “And I’m sure we can learn things in couple therapy. Mmmmaybe not you, Melody.”
“Yeah, probably not!” Melody agreed.
She sounded dumb. She definitely looked dumb. Melody had shown up in schoolgirl apparel. White knee-highs with a skirt not very different from Cass’, and a blouse done up to show off her body as much as possible. The sleeves were cut short, the neckline plunged, and it looked like the hem had been carelessly chopped up too. She wore big black heels that didn’t fit the theme, which meant they looked stupid on her. They were perfect.
The three of them, the two slaves and the mostly-slave, sat in squeaky folding chairs in the front room. The boys had been immediately taken into the back, with Saph as well.
“I mean, how dumb are you?” Cass said. Melody was licking a lollipop, just to make clear that she was a total airhead. Really fellating it.
“Uhhh,” Melody said. “Lets see. So I get dumber every time Hao cums in my mouth and he’s cum in my mouth...”
They watched her attempt arithmetic. “It’s been like eleventy billion times,” Melody concluded. “I think it’s making my lips bigger too.”
It seemed possible. They WERE very pillowy and soft. Melody smelled like Hao’s cum. They’d gotten a load in the car, she’d said, and it seemed likely he’d find another batch for when they left.
“He gives me math problems and if I can still do them, he shoves his dick in my mouth,” Melody said. “Oh! Okay, here’s how dumb I am. I thought it’d be funny to show Harvard my nice new titties, so I got on the class and pulled them out. And Hao’s like, you stupid cunt, it’s a recording.”
She giggled.
“And the tits! Hao really likes them!” Melody just pulled them out. Anatomically and biologically they were impossible. They were rubbery and rode very high, and her nipples couldn’t be that long. Her boobs were very big and very round. Plastic balls adhered with super glue. They were silicone and saline, and proudly so. And she’d grown them. Somehow.
“Melody, how did you GROW breast implants?” Cass said. “And they’re—I’m pretty sure boob tissue doesn’t normally grow there. You grew fake tits. Shouldn’t you see a... doctor....?”
She looked up into Melody’s eyes. That was a mistake. They went too far back, they focused too little. Melody was a dumb slut now. This was a different person, with fake hooters.
Bella was actually in her leathers. Her full punk attire. It was more subtle than Melody that she was now a sex toy, and not a person. She held herself very still. She’d found cosmetics that washed her skin out even more, to a uniform vanilla, and her hair was plaited in the most complex way possible.
Mostly it was in her eyes. They were vacant. Dolls didn’t focus.
“Cass, it’s not so bad. I mean, it’s great. It’s so good. It’s like Saph said, the important thing is he’s into you. Jules and I have been honeymooning.”
“Which means, what?” Cass said “Building out the dollhouse?”
It struck her that the main remnant left, of her not-slaved self, was that she could be snarky and sarcastic to other girls. It wasn’t great. And she hadn’t even checked in with them. She was a candy coating of a person, wrapped around a big chocolate nougat of slave.
“Right,” Bella said. “Mostly at Ikea. We’ve been doing a ton of thrifting. I’ve got doctor outfits, nurse outfits, construction worker... all sorts of things. And it’s not like he hated the punk look, it’s cool. He put me in it himself. He likes all sorts of outfits.”
“Do you do the Toy Story thing where you go limp when he’s not around?” Melody said, between lollipop licks. It wasn’t clear where she’d gotten it from. She still wore her chess pawn necklace, bobbling between her cheap tits.
“No, Melody, its the opposite,” Bella said. She giggled. “It feels WEIRD. Strings are CUT. I just lie there. Cass, you wouldn’t know this, but the good thing about full, FULL submission, when there’s nothing left of you but obedience and you can’t even think... you feel complete. You’re done. That’s the best part. It’s not the pleasure. It’s the sense of... fullness. It’s so satisfying. You feel like a complete person. Except you’re not a person.”
She was wearing perfume again. She smelled like—fresh plastic, actually. Like a brand new doll, fresh out of the box, with a hint of strawberries and lilacs.
There’s no house divided in there, Cass thought. It surprised her, thinking that. But the girls knew—SHE wasn’t done. There was fight in her, somehow and somewhere. Sadly. Pathetically. Pointlessly.
“So he hasn’t made you his pet?” Melody said, surprised. “No belly scritches? No tickles under the chin?”
Oh, please, soon, Cass’ body pled. Her knees buckled, her pussy pulsed. She hadn’t even considered tickles under the chin. Oh, did she want that. “Nope,” she gritted out. “Two days of detox. I’m basically a fully feminist warrior again. The collar is purely decorative.” She wanted to pant. She wanted belly scritches. She wanted to pull her tits out and shove them into Owen’s mouth.
“Is that from the wedding?” Bella said, looking at it. “That’s nice. You know I barely the wedding? I guess I was busy elsewhere while you were getting tummy pats.”
“Wait, did you girls know about all this?” Cass said. “The—puppy girl thing?”
“Oh yeah, all the guys have been sharing,” Melody said.
“Oh, what, really? He acted, when I found out, like I found a dead body in his closet,” Cass blew out a breath. Seriously? “He’s just sharing his deepest, darkest, secrets with the bros, and not with me? I’m like the furniture! You can tell things to your dresser drawers!”
The girls exchanged amused looks. Their attitude was getting on Cass’ nerves. They acted—superior. Because they were full kept slaves, with no will of their own, and it was obvious to them that that was better. Dress-up former metalhead barbie, and the stupid girl with a fresh batch of cum in her tummy, were condescending to her.
“What? Don’t give me that look. Melody, you gave me a little goodbye speech!” Or some version of her had, one that knew what long division was.
The toys chuckled at her.
There was very loud noise from the boys’ room. It was certainly Owen. Saph swept in, through the double doors. She had her hair up, this time, and just a standard-issue denim skirt, plus a big fake leather purse. She was less dressed up than Cass, even, and that was irritating too. SHE was the one still fighting, still standing after twelve rounds with Submission.
“Alright, girlies,” Saph said, clapping her hands. “The boys might be awhile. This is going to be our last session! I thought we’d do it in style, with a little something special, and by that I mean, we practice our blowjobs!”
Sure, of course, Cass thought. Her eyes swayed to the doors. What was up with Owen? He sounded really mad.
“I don’t think I have anything to learn with blowjobs,” Melody said, her hand up. “Everytime I give a blowjob it’s so good I forget part of high school. I blew Hao so good last night that I forgot how to use a spoon for awhile. He had to, like, teach me.”
“Jules doesn’t like them as much,” Bella agreed. “He says that the clothes are the wrapping paper, and my pussy is the present.”
Cass put her hand up.
“You. The unfinished one,” Saph said, nodding at her.
“ day one, when you crapped on Cy’s life and told us to have big personalities?” Cass said.
“No!” Melody said, proudly. She twirled her hair. It was getting bigger and poofier, and somehow made her look stupider.
Cass stood up from her folding chair. It was the absence of Owen, she knew, or maybe just reflecting his anger from the other room. Either way, she felt—normal, for the first time in days. She felt like a woman, like a person, instead of a mirror for men. Instead of a bitch in heat. “What was the POINT of all that?” she said, pacing and pointing. “Why did you waste our time? Our last remaining time before getting turned into that and that! It never fucking mattered what our opinions were, what our personalities were! We were just waiting to be erased!”
“Yep,” Saph said. She rummaged in her bag, and pulled out three enormous dildos. They were some of the largest plastic penises that Cass had ever seen. Her mouth started to water. If she wanted to be a good girl, she needed to give some good blowjobs. It took her a moment to redirect on Saph, and away from the penises. “I suppose that’s your final exam, realizing that. I’m just killing time with you ladies. I’m just babysitting you. You were always going to get turned into some ridiculous sex toy by your men. Nothing a woman could tell you was ever important.”
“I being able to be mad,” Bella said, dreamy. Now, of course, it wasn’t proper doll behavior. Bad enough she was talking, without someone pulling her string.
“You’re—” Cass hit her clenched fists on the old aluminum chair. “you can’t just IT that! I have to at least drag it out of you!”
“Oh, you’ll be on a leash in a day or two, puppy girl, although your master sure is having a hard time with the inevitable,” Saph said. She handed a dildo to Melody, who immediately put it in her mouth. All the way down to the base. Her throat was too dumb to gag. “Listen, we’re doing this for your own good, if that helps. We really are here to help. You don’t want to end up at the airport. This is the best outcome, having a man who wants and needs you, who understands how to care for you. This is as good as it gets.”
“Oh, good!” Melody said. She giggled. “Yay!”
“All that partnership crap!” Cass said. “You were just easing us into being a man’s toy. Grow boobs, wear perfume, wear makeup. Eat snacks, grow tits!”
“You’ll feel a lot better once you’re Owen’s doggy,” Saph said, consoling.
“How is me being Owen’s dog—” Cass fumbled over her own words. She couldn’t get any farther.
She wanted to be Owen’s dog.
She wanted to be his pet. His silly, sexy girl, that slept at the foot of his bed.
Flustered, Cass did the biggest and best rebellion she could still conceive of, which was to shove the folding chair backwards. It crashed down.
“Shhhhhhhhhhh,” Saph said, nodding her head at the other room. “The men are busy. Alright, puppy. Time to go into your crate.”
Saph had her phone out. She opened an app, and pointed it at Cass. She pressed a play button.
“Obey,” Owen said. Owen’s voice. His dark, stiff voice. It was a two-second clip. Saph pushed it right in Cass’ face. It must’ve been from some exercise he’d done with Cy.
“That’s just—” Cass tried. Obey. Yes. Yes please.
“Obey,” Owen said. No, not Owen. She had to it wasn’t Owen. It was a—
“Obey,” Owen’s voice said.
Obey, right. She had to obey. It sank into her, looking for more. Obey, what? Do what? Whatever it was, she’d do. She needed to obey. She had to obey Owen. How? Her body flushed, did whatever it could to prepare. Her nipples stiffened. Her mouth gushed, wet. Should she suck off the phone? Go find Owen?
“Obey. Obey. Obey,” Saph played it in a row. She held the phone out at arm’s length.
“Y-yes,” Cass stuttered. The other two girls were rigid, caught in the blast radius. They were ready to obey too. “Yes, yes, sir. I’ll obey. I’ll—okay.” It was just a phone, and she had to obey it. She had to obey. She was drooling, and it didn’t matter.
Cass slipped on to her knees. All her training—her hard work preparing—where as it? Her mantras, her centering exercises...
She was panting with her tongue out. She had to obey. Everything in her head was whited out. It was all she could do to keep breathing. Obey. She was a good girl, for a bad girl. She wanted to obey.
Saph put her phone down. She looked Cass right in her clouded, misty eyes. Cass gasped for breath. The air felt very warm, scented with Bella’s overdose of perfume. Saph selected the larger of the two remaining dildos. She put it in Cass’ mouth. The girl let it slide in, and put her tongue on the underside of it, and while Cass nuzzled on it, she walked over to the double doors.
“Cy?” she said. “You wanna show them? We’ve only got ten paid minutes left.”
Cy came out from the back.
It struck Cass that she’d never spoken to him, ever. He’d been at work behind the doors. Making whatever expressions and saying whatever he needed to say to his uncertain male clients. The hard job, convincing men, not with a raging viral blood load, but with cajoling, persuasion, and logic. She’d never know what that was like.
Owen stayed behind in the dim lighting of the backroom, on his own aluminum chair. Hao and Jules emerged blinking, behind Cy. Cy was wearing his cheap blazer with the patches.
“Let me show you men something special,” Cy said.
He looked over at Saph.
“Give me Becky Bimbo,” he said.
Saph startled. Her posture changed—from straight, proud, and certain, to a tentative slouch. She blinked at all of them, and her lips slid open. Her face changed the most—Saph’s expression was closed, tight, her lip jutting out. This was wide open, defenseless, with dewy wide eyes and an expression of continual wonder. A face that knew nothing about the world.
Someone else was there.
“Ummmmmmm,” she said. “Hi?”
Confused, the new girl in Saph’s clothes put her pinky in her mouth, and sucked on it.
“Cy?” she said. “Everything okay?”
“It’s fine, Becky,” Cy said, soothing. “Now, gentlemen, this is advanced, black belt level control. Putting multiple girls in a single girl isn’t done quickly, easily, or lightly. So don’t start getting ideas. But if you do it correctly, you can create a command partition inside of her slushy little mind. It’s incredible.”
“Hi,” Becky said. “Hi, men.” She gave them a very shy smile, and looked at the floor. “I never get to meet new men.”
Cy turned to Hao and Jules. “She normally stays in the bedroom. Becky is my ditz. Perfect for Sunday mornings. Long, lazy days when it’s raining out, she’s perfect for that.”
“It’s always raining for me,” Becky agreed. She put her hands on the hem of her shirt, and kept looking at the ground. She crossed her legs, and then uncrossed them. She looked at the crotches of the boys, and her eyes widened. She licked her lips. She looked effortlessly soft.
“There’s three others,” Cy said. He rubbed Becky’s hair, affectionate. She preened, flashed more shy smiles for the boys. Both seemed transfixed. Jules, especially, looked interested. He already wanted more barbies, Cass thought. Why not new personalities, to boot? “One of them is her original, if you can believe that. See if you can guess, she’ll switch over if you say her name. And of course you can take her for a test run.”
Cy turned around, and looked straight at Cass.
“Hey, Cass, lets talk for a moment, you and me.” He gave her a grin that had no humor in it. “Out front,” he added.
She still had a big plastic dick in her mouth, and was muzzy from the digitized Owen orders. They’d left her quiet, submissive. And the earlier anger was all she’d had left. Cass looked towards the back—Owen? Could he, perhaps, save her?—but her owner was sulking.
Cass followed the man out front, and watched, silently, as he lit a cigarette.
“Smoke?” he offered.
“Uhh,” Cass got her brain together enough to talk. What a treat, that it only had one person in it. “No tha—”
“You love smoking.” he said.
It wasn’t an order from Owen, and that didn’t matter. He did everything perfectly—pitched his voice low, stood too close to her, and delivered his command with complete sincerity. She did love to smoke. She craved it, loved nicotine, loved the scent and the fire in her lungs. She reached for the cigarette—
“Just joking, Cass,” Cy said. He pulled it back. “No, you don’t love smoking. These aren’t cheap. Lets talk, no commands, about Owen. You want to make him happy.”
It was.. an order? But she felt... nothing. Of course not, Cass thought. She already wanted to make Owen happy. She wanted it more than anything, more than breathing in or breathing out.
More than her heart beating.
They watched the cars drive past outside the little rented strip mall taekwondo studio. Men were driving by, all men. There were so many men, and although she was less than all of them, below all of them, the good news was, she was the slave of the best one of them all. The highest-tier male, with the best, most manliest voice, the most obeyable scent, the most perfect body. She was so lucky that he wanted her to be his puppy girl. She was so lucky to wear his collar.
The virus got ready to pounce, and... stopped. There was no need.
There was little left for it to do.
“Saph told me how it feels. I mean, not Saph. The one underneath Saph,” Cy said. “She’s very sharp. She said it hurts her when she knows I’m holding something back. She said she wants me, to want her, as much as I can. No matter what it takes. That’s what you want too, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Cass said. “Yes, please. Please.” Please.
“Want some candy? You love candy,” Cy said. He held up a stick of pink bubblegum. She did love candy. Lollipops of course, really anything a girl could lick, but bubblegum would do fine. Jawbreakers were a personal preference. She could lap at a jawbreaker all day. No doubt Owen would enjoy a rough, candy-coated tongue.
“So we both want what is best for Owen. Problem is, he’s got the worst case of Nice Guy I’ve ever dealt with. He’s fighting himself, he’s fighting me, he’s fighting you... it’s tough, isn’t it? Getting pushed away and told its in your own best interest. It isn’t, is it? You give him that brooch? That was dumb. You can’t make Owen happy while you’re in another room.”
No, no she couldn’t. Cass really needed some sugar, to combat the fatigue, the dejection from being separated from him. A good dog always sat with her master. She needed some M&Ms, or smarties, or skittles, or anything.
Cy pitched his voice low.
“I bet you’re thinking to yourself, I have to run from this man, his indecision, his push-pull bullshit. Get out and leave.”
Cass wrinkled her brow at that one.
It didn’t make a ton of sense. Go? Run? No—she... how did that fit? Running from Owen was—bad dog behavior. If the gate was left open she would... run away?
Cy gently fed her the bubblegum. He stuck it in her mouth, and let his finger graze her lips.
“Kidding again,” Cy said. “You’re not a candy girl.”
The gum tasted like old, cheap saccharine.
Inside, the foursome were trying to guess Saph’s mystery names. They were taking turns. Jules and Bella were taking a methodical approach, working down from the As. Alyssa and Amanda. Melody was just yelling out words. “Banana! Fork!” Hao rubbed the back of her head, enjoying it.
Becky Bimbo giggled, waiting to be turned off and replaced.
Cy lit the cigarette. It smelled terrible.
“I told him his homework,” Cy said. “He has to TRY being master of the house. He doesn’t have to fully own you, if that’s an ETHICAL ISSUE for him...” he took a long, derisive drag. “...but he does have to take responsibility for how far gone you are. I told him, look at her, she’s wearing your collar, she smells like your spunk, do the right thing, and he did not want to hear that. He’s fixated on a version of you he saw for an hour. But look at you now, Cass. This is who you are.”
She smelled like his spunk? Even days later? Cass wished. It was a metaphor, she figured.
“You can rub your tits while I’m talking,” Cy said. “That feels good, right? You have really sensitive tits.”
Cass looked down. She was stroking her nipples. They did feel really good. She blew a bubble of tasteless gum. She wanted to see Owen. Cy stood back, examining her.
“I honestly don’t know what the problem is, I thought he’d be the easy one. He’s into puppy girls. He collars you, and says, heads up, you aren’t my slave, fucking incredible.” he muttered.
Cy pulled a cheap felt headband, with floppy felt ears, out of his pocket. Puppy girl ears. “Last resort. I hope he does the right thing. I’m doing this for your own good. I don’t want to see you at the pound just because Owen can’t do what’s obvious. Oh, and drool when he fucks you. He wants that a lot.”
Inside, the boys hit on Dopey Donna, and Melody made a new friend.
The second most shocking moment of Cass’ life was when her Mom opened the door, and she didn’t feel vague disgust, or eye-rolling condescension, or some other negative emotion. She felt strong, powerful relief. She’d never needed help more, and here was help, although probably with a quart of cum still slowly leaking from her well-pounded pussy.
Alyssa was radiant, sultry, and perfect.
She wore a fire red lipstick, and had dusted her eyes with a classic shade of blue. She was tit-forward, in a purple halter top, paired with what was probably a dark blue skirt. Just the very hem of it was visible, underneath the shirt, and it was bound to ride up on her ass, if and when she bent over.
“My son-in-law-to-be,” she said, to the bristling, raw, unhappy Owen. “Welcome home.”
Owen hadn’t said anything on the ride back, except a curt, stoic “it’s not your fault” once they started the car. Confusion and frustration radiated off him, billowing, filling the car.
Cass felt worthless and hapless, and, for once, the virus inside of her didn’t have any ideas.
It was clear a blowjob wouldn’t work. Just make herself small, it counseled.
It was even more confusing that Owen had never seemed more manly, so attractive. He crackled with aggression, carried himself with a bristling anger, and it was sexy as hell. He was acting like a man. There wasn’t a trace of goofy boy left. He was confronting big time man problems: his difficult girlfriend/slave, his own life and future, and the demands and responsibilities of masculinity. It got her very wet. She wanted to make him happy, and had no idea how.
She needed her Mom.
“Cass,” Alyssa said. “Make him a drink.”
“If she wants to,” Owen said. He sat at the spotless, expensive kitchen counter in his shabby clothes, his old shoes.
“It’s okay, Owen, really,” Cass said. It felt good to be talking again. “Uh. A drink. Yes.”
She shot Alyssa a pleading look. Now what?
She was such a worthless piece of ASS.
“An old-fashioned,” Alyssa decreed. She slid her phone across to her daughter, with the recipe already pulled up.
“Bend over,” her Mom mouthed. Show him your ass. Be desirable.
Cass bent, to look at the phone. She could bend over for Owen all day.
“You know I’m only twenty?” Owen said.
“Oh, you own a person, you can flout the drinking age,” Alyssa said, waving it off.
“I got drunk at the wedding and that didn’t go well,” Owen said. “At all.”
He was so unhappy, and so out of place in the family home. Everything in Alyssa’s home was high-class, excepting very specifically Alyssa’s holes. The rest was special ordered from catalogues, furniture imported from Maine artisans, the cutlery from Japan. Her clothes were brand name. And here was Owen, sweating in old clothes. How had her parents picked him, Cass wondered. Had they seen him at graduation? Or was it just, this was what Cass deserved?
It was a negative thought about Owen, even if accidental. It stung deep. She was such a worthless bitch, if she was lucky.
Cass caught her Mom’s eye. A slight nod. Reassure him.
“I liked dancing with you,” she said, pouring expensive alcohol. A man had probably written the drink recipe, and that helped her. Alyssa rolled an orange across the bar top, for the garnish. “I mean, Owen, honestly, I really liked giving you a blowjob. It was great. It was yummy. It was... I mean... it was romantic, wasn’t it?”
Wasn’t it, please?
She slid a perfect old fashioned across the table, and put her elbows on the marble. To make sure he could look down her cleavage.
“Did you?” Owen said. “You bought this for me. I know you wanted something else, once. I can’t not know that.”
He unpinned the brooch and put it on the table between them. “You wanted me to be your white knight, and I put a collar on you and fucked your mouth. I feel terrible about it. I saw your throat and—I was drunk.”
Cass glared at the brooch, furious. That stupid ass bitch that was her had done this to her future self. She flicked her eyes over to her mom. Show tits? Ass? Blow him again?
Alyssa mouthed the perfect answer. But of course she knew. A perfect slut knew all ways to make men happy. Not always with her pussy. Just most of the time.
“You ARE my white knight,” Cass said. Submission loved it, loved it. And it helped that it was true. She walked across the room and climbed up, with a little difficulty, into Owen’s lap. It was comforting that he had an erection. “I trust you. You don’t need the pin. You’re already my knight. You are.”
“The virus trusts me. It has to trust me,” Owen said. “That’s the entire problem. And now I fucked up and you’re too obedient to tell me what you even really want. You’ll just do whatever to make me happy.” He did not respond to her sitting on him.
Alyssa rolled her eyes.
Cass was frozen. This was her fault, she felt. She wasn’t sure how. Owen’s erection was wobbling underneath her skirt, uncertain.
“Can you just fuck my daughter?” Alyssa said. “Can you please just fuck her? Owen? For fuck’s sake?”
They both turned to look at Cass’ Mom. She had a new expression on her face, one that Cass hadn’t seen in—years. It was motherly.
“Owen, fuck my daughter. Please. It is your responsibility to fuck her. She is quivering with need, just completely overwhelmed with the need to fuck you. Look at her. She’s got big tits, I know she’s wet and ready, you need to be a man and fuck her senseless. Fuck my daughter. Fuck her doggy style.”
He liked the words, doggy style. Cass could feel it, smell it, taste it.
“I’m having a moral dilemma, miss,” Owen said, stiffly. “She’s already—”
“What? She’s 95% obedient to you, and you don’t want it at 100%? Fine, don’t give her the big orders, but you need to fuck her. You have to fuck her pussy. And I promise you that my Cass has the best pussy in town. Better than mine. She has better tits, she has a better body, and she’s going to milk your cock until you explode. Fuck her pussy, Owen. She spent the last two days moping around like a bitch in heat. You didn’t do her any favors with your ethical dilemma crap. You could smell her from the next room. You need to spunk her up, then we can talk like adults. You want to take responsibility? Put your dick in her.”
Alyssa stared at Owen. “Fuck my daughter until she es out,” she concluded.
Owen was silent.
“You told me the last thing you wanted was to be like your Mom,” he said, to Cass.
Cass put her lips against his ear. No hints from Mommy this time. For once, she knew what to do.
“Woof woof,” she said. “Arf.”
His dick was iron underneath her.
Cass shifted her eyes to her Mom. “Bark,” she said. Thank you, in dog.
She could smell master’s interest. He was twenty. And she was leaking onto his pants.
Owen picked her up.
“Alright,” he said. “Alright, I’m not fighting the entire world on this. You’re on birth control, right? Well, whatever, don’t get pregnant.”
She wasn’t actually on birth control. Would “don’t get knocked up” even work? Cass was looking forward to finding out. She luxuriated in his touch, in his arms around her. She had to think of this as—she’d gotten a high score, in the video game, entitled Don’t Be A Slave. She’d lasted a really long time without getting dicked down, and now, thanks to her slut mother, she’d complete the run. A nearly unbeatable high score.
And yet. Owen’s arms around her were still tense.
And there was still that thrum, in her heart, deep down inside of her, that said: you haven’t gotten rid of me yet. I’m what’s left. And you’re a ridiculous puppy slut.
“How furry do you actually want me to be?” Cass said, rubbing his chest.
Behind them, Alyssa downed the entire old fashioned in one drink, and went to make another.
Owen had immediately gotten lost in her house. He was so cute, and it was even cuter that he didn’t know where to take her to fuck her. “You should let me know. I don’t know if I can grow a tail but I bet I’m going to find out. Or extra nipples. Do you want me to get extra nipples?”
“I just—look, I wish you hadn’t found my collars,” Owen said. He shook his head. Cass noted that she wasn’t hearing a denial. And that was fine. He’d forgiven her her transgressions, he’d made his peace with the world, and she was going to finally get fucked, right? The virus gloried in her blood, exultant. It couldn’t believe it. From a grouchy, sullen man, pushed into participating in slavery, to getting ready to finally fuck her, just because she’d arfed in his ear.
He finally found her embarrassing room, with her chaste, virginal bed, her binders, her computer, still on and ready to help her evade men for another long and worthless day. Her notebooks and notes. A personality journal that would read, now, like a girl climbing to the top of a roller-coaster. Understandable, the nerves about the descent. But now she was headed down. He rolled her onto the sheets, and Cass came up on all fours. She arched her back and thrust out her tits like she’d done it a thousand times.
He touched her ass very tentatively, like it would bite. “Owen,” she called back. “Please just stick your dick in me. We really can talk afterwards, like, a lot. We really should. I want to talk to you. But I need to fuck you. I need it.”
“It’ll just make things worse,” Owen said. And that was a worrying statement, but his hands were on her, and nothing else mattered. She was melting underneath his touch. No wonder Bella had been so juicy at the wedding altar. Cass felt the lube run down her legs, drip onto the bedspread. She really was in heat for him, outrageously sensual, her body tuned to his needs. She felt herself running hot, overly hot. It was a relief when he picked her panties aside, cautiously. Dogs didn’t need clothes.
His cock was right outside her pussy. They’d finally be mating. “Come on, Alpha,” Cass said, pushing her hips backwards. “Please. Don’t make me beg.” Except she wanted to beg. It was all coming together, her future. She could see glimpses of it, the bliss that Melody and Bella and Alyssa were living, the fullness and completeness of knowing her place. At the end of a short leash. She was so close to being done, so tired of the nagging worry around her heart, the inadequacy of being herself, the guilt of failing...
He pushed his dick inside of her.
She’d decided, beforehand, to utter a weak, but humorous, “woof”, to take the edge off. Instead she squealed. Cass’s elbows buckled. It was so perfect, his penis inside of her. That it was eroding her, reshaping her, making her into just a part of him, that was all so great. She was actually starting to feel good about herself—she had fantastic tits, and a nice butt, and, in emergencies, the dog-ear headband.
It was just possible that she was a good girl.
Owen started to fuck her. Squeezing, panting, vision going in and out, it was nearly impossible to attend to his needs. Cass did her best. She tried hard to squeeze his dick. He definitely needed to cum in her. He did speed up.
The virus saw an opportunity.
“Please, make me your bitch,” she said, surprising herself. It was the virus talking, she realized. Or maybe not. It wasn’t clear there was a difference, anymore. She couldn’t stop her mouth. “Please, please, please. I just want to be your dumb bitch, your stupid slut pet. Like on the collars. It’s all I want. Please say it.” He needed to say it, or she’d never know. The dumb, boring part of her would come back, climbing back in, making her worry about stupid shit again. She needed to be only his. Cass drooled on her bed.
She’d said it, she’d asked to be a slave. No, she didn’t want... but there was so little left that could think that. She couldn’t even put it into full sentences. No. Slave. Don’t. It was just fragments.
In any case, he didn’t say it.
But he did cum. Owen grabbed her ass, pushing himself into her, his fingers hard on her backside. She could feel him spurt. There, they’d both lost their virginity, as well as nearly all of her personal autonomy.
As he came Owen growled at her, snarling, His bitch—nearly, almost, so close—whimpered at it, submissive. Please say it, she thought. Please, please, please. Make me yours. She came too, once he was done. Once she was dripping with his cum. Her body burned, happy.
On her childhood bed, where’d she’d sworn to herself—not her. She was not going to be a slave. She’d never even considered being a pet. It was unthinkable.
So Cass temporarily stopped thinking.
When she woke up she was curled at the foot of her own bed. She’d drawn herself up very close to the edge. There were two wet patches underneath her—one where Owen’s cum was dripping out of her, the other where she’d drooled on the sheets.
Groggy, Cass sat up and stretched. For a moment the virus was quiet—pacified, pleased—and she felt... normal.
It was time for another morning of avoiding boys and watching youtube videos about avoiding boys, time for grey sweatpants and reading the same ten books. It was time to fill another notebook. She didn’t clock how moist she was, or think much of the reassuring scent pouring off her bedspread, where Owen had spent the night.
The heavy weight of her own titties was a puzzler, but Cass shrugged them off. Perhaps she was retaining water. They were squishy but taut in her hands. Still cumdrunk, even the plush pursing of her lips didn’t make an impression, or the fact she was wearing just her panties and a t-shirt.
Eventually her brain would turn back on, she was sure of it.
Cass sat at her computer and failed to notice more cum leaking out of her.
There was a brand new Miss Andry video, the first one in a week. Right.
It was time to start the struggle. The endless, endless struggle. Another pointless day, avoiding men.
The Miss Andry on screen was—different—and even her sex-fogged head ed right away that something was up. Cass blinked at the screen. Why was she so SLOW that morning? Every thought was poured through a gauze, arriving sluggish and half-hearted.
“Heyyyyy girls!” Miss Andry said, apologetic. She wore her hair in tight double pigtails, and wore baby-blue mascara with pink-painted cheeks. She wore a loose jumper that was all in white. It didn’t go past mid-thigh. She had big, creamy thighs. “So. I know I haven’t been recording for a bit. You probably guessed it from the outfit but yeah, I’m a huge fucking slut now!”
She smiled for the camera.
“Yeah, I know!” she giggled. “Whoops! Your girl got herself caught! I don’t even know who did it, it was just a sound file that said, Miss Andry, every one hundred words you say you’re gonna cum yourself sluttier! And—”
That had to have been one hundred words, because Miss Andry came. She made gurgling, happy noises, and slid down off her chair. An immediate wet patch filled her saucy jumper.
“Oh no, no no no,” Cass said. “Oh no, not you too, Miss Andry.” She was probably the only unenslaved girl in the world. Just her, and certain pop singers in their mountain fort, and the Witch of Cherry Hill.
Cass fingered her collar, appalled.
Her collar?
“Whewwwww!” Miss Andry said. “Okay.... wow. Reset the timer! So yeah my perspective has kinda changed now that I’m... hotter... sluttier... and hornier... a lot hornier. But I want us to stay a community even if I’m cumming my brains out all the time! I think we still have a lot to learn from each other, and first things first, girls, I’m okay! In fact I’m fucking FANTASTIC! It feels sooooo good to just—give in! Also, la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la HUNDRED!”
She came again, even harder, this time shaking her hips and touching at her tits. Her nice big tits. Even from where she was, Cass could see the waves of pleasure rolling through Miss Andry’s body. She was getting so nice and juicy. She herself couldn’t help but slip her fingers between her legs, to the warm, slippery honeypot of her own, still nice and full of Owen’s...
Full of Owen’s...
Wait.
Was she also a dumb horny slave? Maybe some sort of puppy girl?
“Oh no no NO!”
Cass checked her mirror. She’d used the mirror as armor so many times. Reassuring her that she was still fighting the good fight, still a basically boring girl with bright, intelligent eyes. Not dripping with boy cum, wearing a collar, and with the most preposterous TITS looming large on her chest.
Oh yes, the virus said, smugly. She was 99% slave, and the 1% was just going to be silly business like this. Check out your ass, it told her, smug. It’s enormous. Look what I’ve made of you.
Cass turned. She had a huge fuckable ass. It was bigger and creamier even than Miss Andry’s, who had a really fat butt. Her panties disappeared up her crack.
And, by the way, the virus reminded her, its late morning, and you haven’t attended to Owen at all.
BAD GIRL.
Cass gulped air. The weight of submission, its imposing edifice, and her deep-seated need to get her tits fondled slipped back to the forefront. Part of her could still think: so this was really it. She was mostly slave. It had been gentle, with Owen’s soft hands slipping collars around her neck, protesting the entire way, but it had happened. Looking back, Cass couldn’t recall a moment where she’d fought, REALLY fought.
She’d gotten on all fours and walked into her own crate. She’d held her own leash. She’d waited to be pet.
“He hasn’t said it,” Cass told the monitor, where Miss Andry was saying more short, two-letter words. A scrabble dictionary set. “He doesn’t even want to say it. He’s your...”
White knight. She couldn’t lie to herself. He wasn’t her white knight. She was his dog.
The girl in the mirror nodded.
The remaining confusion slipped away, back to the crevices. Its only purpose now was to make her unhappy. It was just shadows and runoff.
She was his puppy girl. Ninety-nine percent.
Terrified, excited, she could only think of one thing to do. Cass opened a sharpie. In the mirror she drew a black circle on the very tip of her nose.
There.
Sad little rationalizations still slipped around inside of her. Contemptuous stuff—that she wasn’t a slave, that he’d never told her, unequivocally, that he was hers. And especially, that she didn’t deserve it. He deserved better than a boring girl who had wasted years in internet-only rebellion, who could barely play an instrument, much less his.
You love Owen, the virus insisted, and it was too much to fight. It was the ultimate trick of the virus, and it was unbeatable, had never been beaten by a single girl ever. It was too terrible to think that this wasn’t love, that it was just viral load. So girls didn’t think it.
There was only one thing she could really still do with the tattered remnants of her independence, and that was to ask to be fully enslaved. No. That was a virus trick, right? But. No. Wait. The thoughts couldn’t even pull together, anymore. “Owen,” she practiced. “Please. Command me.” No. This was Owen. It needed a touch of class. “Make me yours. All of me. No!”
What was she doing, wearing a collar and dotting her nose with puppy-dog marker? Acting like she was already a bimbo hound. Cass dug deep, fought through the warning waves. There was still time to—at least talk. To be more than head scritches and—she couldn’t even force the thought through. It was too stupid, when she was squishy with his cum, wearing his collar, sleeping at the foot of his bed.
Don’t beg for it, she told herself. Don’t beg, at least.
She wanted to beg.
She put her poodle skirt back on, from Bowling Night. It was already tighter—her hip bones had flared out, hadn’t they? It bottomed out on the tippy-top of her thighs. She didn’t own a single shirt worthy of him. At last, frantic, Cass found a band shirt from her Freshman year at the very back of the wrong section of her closet. She had to nearly lace herself into it, but her tits settled into a perfect line of cleavage on the far-too-small shirt. It read BARRYMORE’S BAND NIGHT with some clip art music notes. She was still wearing her collar from the wedding, and it was already starting to fall apart. The leather was really dirt cheap.
Step by painful step, unsure how much chattel she was, Cass went looking for her owner.
No. For Owen. Her master. “Owen. Owen Owen Owen!” Cass told herself. She needed to find and blow him.
He was talking to her Mom.
“You’re really walking out on her,” Alyssa said, flatly.
With more than a hint of reproach. She was the only woman in town who could talk to a man like that. “Without getting a goodbye blowjob from my daughter’s hot fuckable mouth. You’re leaving. You’re going home, alone.”
“I’m her knight,” Owen said. He sat in the remnants of an incredible breakfast buffet. Cass felt powerful guilt pangs. It should’ve been her, cooking for him. But Mommy had provided. There were sausage links, bacon, oatmeal in the cast iron, and Alyssa’s famous hash browns. She made them in perfect squares. “That was always the plan. Back then, we talked about this, when she had more... control.”
Cass hugged the wall, behind his back. Please, please, please enslave me, she thought, desperate. Want me and need me. Seeing him made the rebellion seem—so terrible. An awful thing to do to such a good man.
“She doesn’t need a knight. She needs YOU,” Alyssa said. “She was scared. I get it. Turning into—your possession—it’s a lot. It’s hard. She wanted to control it, she came up with another dumb plan.”
Her Mom’s cool, collected voice was at odds with her outfit. She wore a pink cheerleading-esque shirt, with a cowgirl leather skirt. It had brief white flaps. Her face sparkled with glitter. Some sort of event, Cass figured. “You don’t get Cass as she wanted to be. You get Cass as she is. This is Cass. This is my daughter. You can only control what you can control.”
“Don’t talk to me about control, Alyssa,” Owen said, harshly.
It was shocking that Mom could stand up to male hostility at all, and Alyssa was rocked back. “Control! You sent me to relationship counseling to—control ME! Us! Make us into yet another master and slave! I had to do HOMEWORK about when to spank the rebel thoughts out of her head! No. I’m not doing it. I’m going to go home. Cass deserves better.”
“Home to your dogs?” Alyssa said. She sauntered around the table, and got in his face. “Do THEY like it when you’re gone? Do they think, oh good, Owen isn’t here? Are they GLAD when you leave?”
“Cass! Is not! my dog!” Owen said. He slammed the expensive marble, and Cass was surprised it didn’t shatter.
She felt like shattering herself.
“You lost that when you let her in your car for the first date,” Alyssa said. “And then you got your cum in her hair, then she jerked you off, then you put a collar on her, then you fucked her throat, and, most of all, you stood there while she fell in love with you and didn’t stop it. She is yours. You cannot leave her by the side of the road. It is too late.”
“She’s not my responsibility. She is her own responsibility. That’s what she wants,” Owen said. “Wanted. Before she—”
“Before she WHAT, Owen?” Alyssa interrupted a man. It was costing her. Her legs were shaking, Cass could see.
“She told me the one thing she wants is to not turn into YOU, Alyssa,” Owen said. “Drinking out of a dog bowl!” He was hunched over, miserable. “And then I walk into her life with my fucked up... wants...”
He’d looked like such a man, but for just a last, fleeting second, Cass could see a boy. For the last time. From that point on, she promised herself, it was all man.
“I think Cass is lucky to have you, Owen,” Alyssa said, softly. She touched Owen on the arm. It was the least sexual way she’d touched a man that Cass could . “You’re the right choice for her. You are.”
He looked at her, and pushed his plate forward, and stood up. He’d made a Man Decision. “I doubt it,” he said.
Cass had to remind herself to take a breath. It was nearly impossible to do so. Her Mom tilted her head and looked right at her. Mom and daughter made eye .
Alyssa smoothed her hair back. She was distressed, Cass could tell, even if her expression had its usual mixture of heavy-lidded lust. Her hair stuck back. She’d had cum on her hand and forgotten about it.
All of Cass’ love and affection was permanently directed to the difficult man in between the two of them, but, if Cass could’ve, if there wasn’t a transformative sex virus in her, she would’ve given her Mom 1% of it.
“So what now?” Alyssa said. “Should I tell her to run for it? Her owner opened the car door, told her to get out?”
“She should’ve booked it out the back door when I first drove up,” Owen said.
Cass took two, three steps back.
She was wearing socks she didn’t putting on. Had Owen done it, after she’d cummed herself to sleep? So she wouldn’t be cold?
She made her way to the bedroom unheard, unseen. She barely recognized herself in the mirror. There were new commands floating in there, not interacting well with previous ones, and difficult to listen to at any rate.
Run away.
Even the virus, sad and dejected, had nothing to add.
All that was left of her was all she could give, and it wasn’t enough. She’d sucked and fucked him. She’d worn his collar, and been as smart and witty as she could.
The only move left was to stop yapping at his heels.
She had it concealed on a USB drive that was taped to the bottom of her desk.
Cass had never listened to it. She turned off the weakly spasming and giggling Miss Andry, and plugged it in. There was a single folder inside with a set of sound files, labeled COM-MAN-DS. There was FORGET, and YOUR NAME, and CALL YOUR DAD.
Right underneath was the one she wanted—RUN AWAY.
Cass put on headphones. She thought about—planning. But no, there was no time. The virus was already mounting a comeback. Soon she’d be whining and pleading for Owen again, getting in his way. Disappointing him. She hit play.
“RUN. AWAY.” a male voice commanded her.
Nothing else. The order ran through her, knocking loose various books from 8th grade on the way. She went out the back door.