The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT SEVEN: It’s been a wild two weeks, and we’re glad you chose us as you begin your life as an owner. , girls are far more than just toys for your amusement. A lot more. Scientists have just begun to work out what Submission can do. You can change their names, their personalities, their bodies, with a word and a nod.

Submission girls can and will run a marathon on their bare feet to make you happy. They’ll learn advanced car repair if you ask. They’re superheroes, in a way. And you own them.

It’s a big responsibility.

TWO YEARS AGO:

High School graduations had gotten a lot more hazardous since Submission.

But Cass had decided to risk it. Her last big public showing, before Isolation. She’d gotten it all planned out.

“So, I can’t hear anything,” Brenna said, showing Cass the ear plugs. “Special design. They’re actually powered. I can’t even hear my voice which is weird. La la la, can’t hear that at all. Basically, tell me when they call my name. Shove me towards the stage.”

“Can do,” Cass said.

“What?” Brenna said.

Her parents had pushed her to risk graduation. Having it at all was controversial—Submission was three months in, and everyone was clearly going to need to rethink every human institution. To continue they’d need safeguards against casual and accidental erasure of girl personalities. The Superdome incident, where a stadium of newly Submissive ladies had been told to “GET READY TO RUMBLE”, was still on everyone’s minds. It had gotten pretty ugly in New Orleans.

“Okay,” Cass said. “Hand signals. We’ll use hand signals.”

“What? Oh. Hand signals! Great idea.”

“Look at all the sluts out there,” Erica said. Their other band drummer.

The three of them regarded the crowd. It was the parents. They should’ve been dressed up in dowdy parental clothes, and ready with cameras. Instead the female half was stuffed into rubber clothing, or lycra, or nylon, and a lot of them had their legs uncrossed. From their vantage point on the stage Cass could see a lot of—even she had stopped thinking of them as vaginas. They were pussies. Mrs. Weatherford, who had driven her to soccer games for two years, was in some sort of continual orgasmic bliss, draped over her husband. She wore a gauzy light blue dress and she had one generously sized titty falling out of it.

“I’m not sure our high school diploma is very meaningful anymore,” Cass said.

“So you girls know, I’m headed to the woods to hang out with the Witch,” Brenna said. “I’ve been learning to build fires and all that. I’m going to hunt down the male animals and eat them. Just nod, don’t say anything.”

“I like that,” Erica said. Erica was proudly overweight. Holding on to fat was a big accomplishment, since ing-by men liked to yell, ‘LOSE SOME WEIGHT, CHUNKY!’ “Personally I’m thinking, underground. Urban underground. All you need is an abandoned building. And we live near Detroit. Perfect. Cass, what about—geez, Cass, your Mom. She’s gonna get a reputation.”

Alyssa had decided to get a wave going, out in the crowd. Her mother, the doctor, must’ve picked a shirt for the occasion just so she could show off her tits. She had many formal dresses, perfect for graduations. She stood up and pulled up her shirt, and gestured for everyone else to her. A lot of Moms were. A barechested display, in front of their few still-resisting daughters.

“Yep. That’s my Mom,” Cass said.

“Cass, is that your MOM?” Brenna said.

They were graduating as part of the Band. A lot of the girls were already slaved up to male —trumpeters had enslaved trumpeters, flautists had enslaved flautists. They’d at least put on the graduation robes, although Cass doubted there was much clothing underneath. Their former male bandmates were having fun, putting their hands all the way up the heavy polyester clothing. They owned some solid musicians.

Just a few boys stood by, stiffly, still disapproving.

It was heartening to see a few boys on their side. Robbie was there, and Vineet, and Owen was there. Surprising, which band buds immediately enslaved fellow band buds, and which did not. Cass had pegged Owen as a bit incel-y. It would not have been a surprise if he showed up with a taken woman, and nice that he didn’t. For whatever value being a Nice Guy meant, anymore. Probably nothing.

He gave the three of them a wave.

“Okay, guys!” Principal Kim said. “Lets go!” she gave a girlish giggle. The principal wore rainbow socks and four-inch heels, and matching rainbow earrings. It had become a local game to turn her into a sex-crazed, very ditzy teenager. Boys found all sorts of ways to tell her she was boy-crazed, hormone-loaded, and very horny. The school board kept trying to turn her back, but she was getting increasingly scatterbrained. “Brenna, uhhhhhhhhhh, gosh, reading is hard, Ostertag!”

“Go,” Cass said. Brenna was looking over at the boys. One had caught her eye, and appeared to be giving her hand signals. Pointing at her, and then him, and then sticking his finger through a hole made with two fingers.

“Oh. Um. Yes,” Brenna said. She reluctantly turned away.

She’d be renamed dozens of times in the next two years, ‘Brenna’ so far beneath the substrate as to be irretrievable. By the time Cass ran away her name was Aisha, and she lived in Karachi.

“Erica Bautista!” Their other drummer walked, ponderous, to pick up her diploma. The next time Cass heard from her she was Trixie, and she’d lost a ton of weight, mostly from nursing her firstborn. The Dad was somewhere in the band mates behind them.

“Hey girls!” a man shouted out, from behind a fence, outside the auditorium. They all turned to look. It was important to hear what a man had to say.

Brenna didn’t hear what he yelled. Everyone in the crowd, who did, turned to suck a man’s dick. Some of the men gently reoriented their girls, countermanded the orders, and had them pay attention to the graduation ceremony that they were there to attend, and see their kids graduate. Others didn’t, because it was always nice to get a surprise blowjob. Alyssa was one of them. Uniquely, she sucked the closest cock, which wasn’t Cass’ Dad. She shared Mrs. Weatherford’s husband.

Cass didn’t hear it either, because Owen sprung into action, and started to sing Jolene in his cracking new baritone, and it was all she could hear.

She hurried across the stage to a sea of unzipping zippers, and grabbed her diploma from her slutty principal, and then disappeared into her room for two years. But she didn’t forget that she owed Owen a favor.

Bad Girl was badly underdressed to flee, for life, into the wilderness. She wasn’t even wearing pants. Cass wasn’t sure she could still wear pants, without an express command from her ow—her mast—

No, she needed to let go of that. Dog on the side of the road.

“Owen is not my....” she said, and felt her tongue fight back and her throat rebel. Fine, but she could still THINK “Owen is not my master yet” without complication, besides a slight feeling of panic, and some nausea. He didn’t want her, and she was a burden. Two facts that she could repeat to herself, while becoming a forest nymph, a spirit of the woods, one who didn’t wear pants.

It was very stupid to try and disappear into the forest, and Cass was a little confused why she was doing it. Not a few desperate girls had tried it, early on. Generally it was tough to survive in the wild, with no food source, few supplies. And to make it worse Michigan had a lot of hunters. They flooded the wilderness in their orange vests and their Girl Calls, which was them yelling “FEEEEEEMALLLLEEEEEEES” very loudly. Many emerged with prize trophies, especially shivering but attractive girls from nearby colleges, layered up in co-ed sweaters.

Cass walked through the streets. She made a weak effort to remove her collar, and couldn’t. At least that would make some men—not many—think that she was already taken, that it would be bad manners to claim her.

The extreme danger of her situation helped her think somewhat more rationally, the clean air pulling the intoxicating effect of Owen out of her. She’d been the victim of a parent/society effort to make her into a local slave. A slave where they could say it was a good outcome, that she had a good owner. That they liked her owner.

The problem was she also liked her owner. She liked him a lot.

“He should do better,” Cass told herself. “He’s going to do better. I’m not even very doggy. My tits are too big, and there’s just two of them, instead of ten.” Owen would find some spunky girl with short hair, a terrier type, who would lick his face and shiver with eagerness and obedience. Not some sad, dull failure of a rebel, the last one at the pound, who did nothing but lay in her crate.

Submission told her, and she already knew, that she was just kidding herself. Owen wasn’t going to do any better. Not because she was great—she was a Bad Girl—but because the world wasn’t lining up to provide hot girls with big boobs to conflicted band assistants, especially ones who had a yen for sexy scooby-doos.

Yes. That was a negative-ish thought, about Owen. She tried to build on it. She would go outside, then immediately ask to be let back in. No, that was too cat-coded. She’d throw up in the car. She’d eat poop and then lick his face. Perfect.

She had no way of knowing, but Cass came extremely close to being rustled.

A minute later a car drove by, that would’ve meant she’d be renamed Mezzo, and become part of a choir, singing with a perfect and clear voice. Not the worst life, but third string to Soprano, who got to sleep in master’s bed, and got to suck him off first thing in the morning, when Master was fresh.

If she’d made a right-hand turn she’d have grown the biggest boobs in the state, coaxed and urged on by constant commands to grow, and get bigger, encouraged by nutritional supplements.

Cass sighed. Being a girl was such a fucking pain in the ass. It had been hard before Submission. Now she had to convince herself she was a bad doggy, to power through an enormous desire to grovel and lick Owen’s feet, so she could escape with nothing but the skimpy clothes on her back into the depths of the forest. If she wasn’t rustled first. And do it for Owen’s benefit, and not her own, because she didn’t matter at all.

And there was no room left to lie to herself—if his ugly car drove up, and he came out, and if he held the leash...

The road petered out. She’d reached the trail up into Cherry Hill. A horn sounded, not far away, and it startled her. Going up the trail was dumb, wasn’t it? Cass needed to think like what she was—an abandoned dog, slinking with her tail between her legs.

She’d go off into the underbrush, head low. She needed to avoid men.

“Owen is not my man,” there, it was coming easier, even if it was a lie. There was no real detoxing from Submission, but she hadn’t really gotten commanded. He’d never even straight up told her the whole doggy thing, it was surmise and scent and investigation and browser history.

She’d picked up a hoodie before she’d gone. Cass checked the pockets for supplies. Somehow the folded up set of puppy ears, the headband, had made its way in there.

She put it on and pushed farther into the woods. To find the Witch of Cherry Hill.

Cass had been a feral woman for six hours, and it sucked.

She was a little hungry and a lot thirsty. This was especially worrying because, she knew, Submission girls just didn’t feel body needs in the same way anymore. Little details like dehydration were subordinated to more important things like men, making men happy, and whether men were thirsty. If she was feeling parched, it meant she really needed a drink.

The only thing keeping her moving was a slender thread of scent, too indistinct to make out, but different from the forest around it. She trailed after it. It was meaty, that was all she could make out.

The forest was otherwise empty. There were no Witches. There weren’t even many birds.

She wasn’t feeling any less doggy. More canine, if anything. Her hunting instincts were activated, and she felt a strong desire to be part of a pack. When Cass smelled food she oriented on it, and her mouth started to water, straightaway. She missed Owen. She missed everyone, and it was very slow comfort that she’d briefly escaped her own inevitable fate. Fate had central heating, and water from the tap.

“Awooooooo,” she said, sadly.

Fate was Owen, and, reflecting on it, every little sniff she could get of him would be fine. Maybe it was like aging. There was no running from it, acceptance was the only virtue. So also with her enslavement sex virus that made her into a busty drooling puppy girl.

Her Mom had known that from the first moment.

Cass picked her way through the brush on the hill, around any number of trees, wondering if the plants touching her bare legs were poisonous. The scent led her onwards. If this was a boy trap, leading to her being caged and shipped off... but what choice did she have?

She’d never really had any choice at all.

The scent ended at an ancient VW bus with bald tires, on a turnoff from a disused fire road. Only a few streaks of asphalt underneath the pine needles showed that humanity had ever been by. Someone—someone feminine—was humming to herself on the other side of the bus. The sound was enchanting. Whoever was over there, she sounded like a Disney princess, or at least their understudy. Cass could only figure that all the woodland creatures were with her, attending to her needs.

“Hello?” Cass called out.

The humming stopped.

“Are you the world’s sexiest man?” a voice said.

Cass looked down. Her tits hid her view of her feet. Even now, fleeing, they were hogging her nutrients.

“No,” she said.

“Are you male at all?”

Again, Cass examined her bountiful tits. She even hefted them. She felt 100% female.

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m definitely not. I’m a girl.”

The most beautiful woman she’d ever seen peeked her head around the side of the bus.

A ravishing beauty, with auburn wavy locks and extremely meticulous makeup.

“Oh my lord, an escapee!” she said, from ruby-red lips. She even wore beautiful earrings, a perfect gold set of hoops. Against the chill the woman wore a full-length parka, but had it unzipped. Underneath was a teensy tennis dress, an immaculate white, that didn’t to much more than her thighs. Cass blinked. She was reasonably sure she’d started to hallucinate. Too many blows to the brain, in too short of a period. This was not just a girl, it was a vision. The type of girl that bestowed magical gifts to men.

“Come on,” the woman said. “I’m Reese. There’s stew. I bet you like stew. Goodness, I haven’t had a girly refugee in a full year!”

A few gears spun in Cass’ head. “Are you... the Witch of Cherry Hill?”

“Oh, I’ve heard that,” the Witch of Cherry Hill said.

She reached into her bus and tossed Cass a puffy jacket, and nodded to a camping chair. She already had two set up. “I’ll pour you some stew. It’s Hungry Man, but I think girls can eat it anyway. It’s been so long! No one comes up here anymore. The men don’t bother hiking anymore, and the girls are with the men. Drink some water, dear.”

The hottest woman in the world ed her a full water bottle. From a bowl, on the ground, the virus told her, but it had lost its sting. It was as forlorn as she was. Cass drank and drank from the flask.

Cass took a seat, slowly. Even now she felt an urge to—keep going. She hadn’t really thought this through, getting herself commanded to run. “You really exist,” Cass said. “You’re hiding out here, from men?”

“Oh! No no no no. Not at all!” Reese said, taking her own seat. Her voice was like a bell. She wore heels that were both dainty and three and a half inches. “I’m waiting for a man impressive enough to claim me! If they want the finest piece of ass in the hills, they should prove themselves, is my thinking. Hasn’t happened yet. Eat some stew. You look very cold.”

“So you’re not—rebelling,” Cass said. She forced herself to eat. It was cheap, gristle-y meat, and comforting. It was what she deserved. “You’re the Witch of Cherry Hills. I thought you’d have—a fortress. Or at least a cottage surrounded by traps.”

“Oh, I’m not rebelling! I have a sex virus that lets men control me!” Reese said. She laughed a tinkling laugh, and then smiled, fondly. “We’re girls! We’re the lesser sex. We’re what men make of us. I just haven’t been controlled yet by a powerful man! I don’t know why, I think I’m a pretty hot piece of ass.”

Reese put her bowl down, and stood up. She’d put a full-length mirror in brackets on the side of her bus. She ired her figure fondly. “It’s good, isn’t it? The virus keeps putting more and more curves on me. Its frustrated I haven’t found a man. But I told it, why should it be just any man? Do you mind if I touch myself?”

“No,” Cass said, eventually. This was not the witch-y behavior she’d expected. “Everyone I know rubs their pussy during conversations. So go ahead.”

“I try to keep myself wet and ready, just in case,” Reese said. She reached into her van. Even here, in the woods, miles from anyone, she bent carefully at the waist, with her knees bent, showing as much of her ass as possible. It was the best ass near Detroit. She pulled out a black rubber dildo and hitched up her white dress. Her pussy was perfectly smooth. She shoved it in, and wiggled it up her cunt. There was no way it was going to fit, and then it was all gone, excepting a flared base.

“I have a plug in my ass, too,” Reese shared. “And I have some nipple clips if you’d like them.”

She resumed eating stew.

They ate stew together, the last two unclaimed girls in the State. The only two ferals remaining. They were all there was.

“That’s it, huh? That’s really it?” Cass said.

“You didn’t like the stew?” Reese said.

“Even the witch of the mountain is saying—I’m a slave, if eventually. There’s no rebellion left, is there? There’s you, there’s Fort 1989 somewhere in the Rockies, and that’s it. We’re just—this. This is it. This is it! We’re it! And we’re just—waiting. Waiting for our men. Getting ourselves wet and ready for them. Growing tits for them. That’s all we are.”

And yet, especially when warmed up... it was hard to feel bad. She did like her body. She liked how big her boobs were. She liked her lips, how puffy they’d gotten, swollen and beestung and kissable. She liked how her butt swung around. She liked being feminine. She was in love, or the chemical equivalent. It made no sense at all—she was so beaten down, she was property, why take any pride in it? But there it was. She wanted to be a good girl. The best girl, for him.

She was so tired of being a BAD GIRL.

She was too tired to fight it anymore. She was a sexy, capturable girl. She had happy hormones in her brain and bloodstream. It was what it was. She was what she was. There was a good girl in her, waiting. Restless.

“Eat your stew, Cass,” The Witch of Cherry Hill said. “You think too much.”

Cass stopped eating.

She hadn’t mentioned her name before.

She put her spoon back in the dinged-up aluminum bowl. Her knees tensed, ready to resume flight. “You know my name?”

“Yes, Cass. Hold on a moment,” Reese said. “I don’t want to have this talk while I’m cumming.” She slowly pulled the dildo out of herself. It was an odd tug of war, fighting her own amazing pussy muscles for it. It finally popped free with a noise that sounded almost like disappointment. Reese held it up, triumphant, iring the slow drip of her own juices down its length, and then put it in her mouth. All the way down her throat. It all took some time, but Cass didn’t interrupt. She wasn’t sure how to interrupt a witch.

Plus the Witch looked like she was really enjoying herself. More pussy juice leaked onto her camp stool. Cass could even spot her clit, from across where she was sitting, using only natural lighting. It was that round and red.

“Okay. Whew. Of course I know you. I’ve known you for years. You’re Alyssa’s daughter,” the Witch said, finally, after pulling it free. She offered Cass the dildo. Cass shook her head. “I mean, I know that just by looking. You’re lucky to get her body. Makes things easier.”

“Does it?” Cass said. She looked around the clearing. The van, as decrepit as it looked, was very quietly idling, the engine on. The interior held a small cot with a set of multicolored blankets, a few boxes, and otherwise a complete set of extremely sexy clothes. They were on hangers on a makeshift rack fitted to the back end of the van.

“Fair,” the Witch conceded. “I’m not even sure what man deserves THIS. It doesn’t have to be a woodsy guy. It could be someone urbane, who happens to enjoy hiking. Alyssa tells me about you whenever she stops by. And we fuck of course.”

“Of course,” Cass said. “Because there’s not much to talk about. I guess I’m not surprised. It’d be weird if there was someone around town she didn’t lick. Alright. Of course you know my Mom.”

“Oh, I’d be thrilled if Alyssa was my Mom,” Reese said. “She feeds me, you know. Brings supplies. She says she keeps an eye out for a man for me. Sometimes I think I can spot her, driving herself around town, to get butt fucked. So. Yes. Your Mommy is still feeding you, even now.”

“She told you to watch out for me,” Cass guessed.

Reese tapped her nose, and smiled.

“I guess that’s why you didn’t ask about the dog nose.”

“It’s a cute look,” Reese said. “Like an adorable Halloween costume. Don’t tell Owen the entire town, including the local witch, knows he’s into lady poodles. He’d have a difficult time with that.”

“So this entire time—”

“Oh, it’s more than that,” Reese said. The beautiful, ravishing woman, the pearl of Detroit, licked her soup spoon clean. She made a show out of it. Practicing, for the world’s best dick, once it came to find her. “Your Mom set it up so you’d run away. This is the backup plan. Yeah. So your young man realizes what a fool he’s been, he misses you, and he comes and gets you. Desperation play on her part, but that’s men for you. He’s a very stubborn young man. You two deserve each other.”

Cass didn’t say anything. Reese pretended not to notice her shock, her silence.

“It’s like Beauty and the Beast, except you’re also the Beast,” she added.

Reese took Cass’ bowl and started to slurp it down. She even made eating stew attractive. Once she was done with that she wiped her mouth clean, reached underneath her skirt, and pulled out her butt plug. It was jeweled. It ed the dildo on the enger seat of the car.

“Whew!” the Witch said, relieved, despite herself. “Its hard work, to keep your asshole nice and loose, for the boys. You’ll have it easier, getting a real dick working the plumbing.”

Cy had told her to run. Alyssa had driven it home. She must’ve waited until she heard Cass, descending the stairs, to have that conversation with Owen. She had had the entire morning to do it. Her Mother had been pulling the strings the entire time. Jules had nothing on that puppetmaster.

“You can keep running,” Reese added. “Keep going up the road. But I am pretty sure your boy is going to be here shortly, because I texted Alyssa once I heard you crashing around. So I’d wait for him.”

“Owen’s coming?” Cass said.

She couldn’t even summon up any anger, or even frustration, at being moved around like a chess piece. She could only hear: he’s coming. He’s coming back. He’d made a mistake, and turned his car around, and nothing else mattered. Owen was the one who’d been manipulated, after all. She was just—his.

“Are you sure?”

“Your knight in shining armor!” Reese said. She laughed. “Alyssa has been so exasperated! You’re sure you’re not fully enslaved already? You light up at his name. I can practically see your nips getting hard! Do you want me to lick your slit, get it nice and shiny for him? It’ll be fun. Mr. Knight will appreciate it.”

“He’s not my knight,” Cass said.

She stood up, to better hear him coming up the road.

“He’s my owner.”

Cass turned to face the road. She took off the parka, so that Owen would see all of her body, when he came around the bend. She checked to make sure her collar was on, and nice and tight. She kept the puppy ears on, and fluffed out her hair, so it would be shaggy yet attractive. She pinched her nipples to make them nice and hard. She didn’t check her slit. Her pussy was as hot as it was going to get.

She was ready to be enslaved.

In her head the running timer on her rebellion came to a final halt. Two years and several months and two weeks and a day. Solid entry for the leaderboard. She was ready for it, for Owen to take the final dregs of what she had been and put them away. She wanted to be his, if he’d have her. Submission burned in her blood, in all of her, between her legs, between her ears.

She wanted it so bad.

“I wish I could stay and watch,” the Witch of Cherry Hill said. She snapped the chairs up. “Any last words? You look excited, so maybe not, huh? I hear its the best moment of your life. I can write it down for you, if you want something permanent.” Because her mind wasn’t going to be. But that was okay. Cass was okay with it.

“Its fine,” Cass said. “I’m fine with it. I want it. I want to be Owen’s pet. I want to be a good dog.” She wiped her eyes.

She’d never be a bad girl ever again.

Was that a set of headlights, working its way up the fire road? Cass rubbed at her pussy, not to make it wetter, but because it was fun. She turned her collar so the latch was front and center.

“That’ll be me, someday, once an actual man comes along,” Reese said, envious. She let out a theatrical sigh, and tossed her chairs into her van. “I’ll stay until I hear their car. Good luck. Say hi to your Mom. You could do a lot worse with Moms.”

“I know,” Cass said.

His old, beat-up car chugged up the , with his hi-beams on. He cut the lights as soon as they shone, blinding, in Cass’ face. There was just a tiny bit of light left in the day, and it slipped below the horizon just as he opened the door.

“Cass!” He was very upset and very angry. “Cass, what the—what the fuck were you thinking?”

She wasn’t thinking, Cass thought. She’d just been maneuvered to make this man happy. And that, also, was fine. Behind her, Reese’s van put-putted up the trail, headlights very dim and moving slowly.

“I’m sorry,” Cass said, as he got close. Again, she noticed how large she was. And she was so small. “I thought you didn’t want me, so I ran away. I’ve been bad.” She played with the hem of her skirt. She had many small scratches on her legs, from running through the forest. and was ashamed of them. Cass pulled at the bottom of her shirt, just in case he hadn’t seen just how huge and mouthwatering her tits were.

“No—” Owen said. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. She’d never seen him upset like this. Cass vowed—never again. Never again would he be sad. But in the meantime she soaked it in, a new side of Owen, to be filed away close to her heart. Every new part of him was fascinating. She loved him completely. Almost completely. “Its not you. It was never you. I mean, I guess it is, I get that. Now. Alright. Okay.”

“I don’t want to be bad ever again,” Cass said. She took his hands in hers. “Please. Please, sir.”

He shuffled in front of her, pacing, quivering, and it struck Cass that he was a dog too.

He was scruffy, and needed lots of affection, and loved walks and big groups of people. And just like her, he’d had no real choices. It had been decided by others. By people.

He was a dog.

They were dogs.

The virus decided the thought was too dangerous, practically egalitarian, and took it away. Master, it reminded her, sternly, and Cass nodded, slightly. Master, she thought.

“You’re my pet,” Owen told her, in a rush. He’d forgotten all the masculine mannerisms they’d tried to drill in to him. He didn’t say it with overwhelming authority, his posture brooking no dissent. A perfect order would’ve meant him stroking under her chin, or ordering her to kneel. “You, Cass, you’re my—dog. You’re my dog. I own you. You are never leaving me, ever. I’m your—I guess I’m your master. I’m your master. Got it? You are NEVER doing that again. I OWN you. I’m YOUR MASTER. You are MINE, alright? MINE. You are MY DOG. NOW. FOREVER.”

It was the best moment of her life. Just as promised. The sexual part of it was almost an afterthought, although she did cum, a slow-bursting orgasm that started quietly and then promised to run for the rest of her life. Doubts and uncertainties ebbed away, replaced with iron, unquestioning, and blissful obedience.

Cass was really sure she was going to enjoy being this man’s dog.

He had been holding something behind his back, and, very shyly, brought it out. It was a small, square package, tied with a bow. He’d very clearly tied it himself, with big bunny ears.

Cass unwrapped it.

A collar.

It was her very own collar. It had her name printed on it, and her phone number.

That was so typically Owen. It should’ve been HIS phone number. It was a brown leather collar, one of the personalized ones you could get at the mall for twenty bucks. “Here, I’ll put it on you, if that’s okay,” he said. “I got it for you, and then I found that brooch thing, and I got—scared.”

It was okay. She sniffled. Black sharpie ran down her face with her snot.

“Do you like the nose? And the ears?” she said.

He gave her a kiss on the sharpied-up tip of her nose.

“Here—here,” Owen said. He went back into his car dashboard and came back with an old leash. It looked like it would snap at the first tug, and had been dragged through the mud. He reached up and snapped the hardware on her collar. She’d been leashed. Just like Bella, just like Melody, Cass felt the hot trickle of her own arousal run down her legs. She was so turned on. And more so when Owen gave her an experimental pull. He really yanked it. She stumbled, happy. The collar felt so good around her neck.

“Yes, Master,” Cass said. “I’ll never do that again. Arf arf bark.” she giggled, intoxicated with it. “Hey, you did it. You enslaved me. Owen. I’m a slave. I’m a slave!”

“Yeah,” Owen dropped his eyes down. She went in for a big hug, rubbing her hair, her headband, on his chest. “Yeah, I did it. We should talk—”

“Dogs don’t talk a lot, Master” Cass said. Her pack leader, or master, or owner, put his arms around her. She already had a strategy in mind, for when he was feeling blue, or insecure about turning his childhood friend into his dedicated sex slave. She was just going to fuck or blow him, right then.

Or suggest a long walk.

They both loved walks.

“Alright, get in the car,” Owen ordered her. Happy to comply, Cass went to the back, and opened the trunk. She got in on all fours. There were lots of old band competition flyers back there, and a few forgotten sweaters. It smelled like the last five years of Owen.

“You’re not riding in the trunk,” Owen said. He hadn’t let go of her leash. “The dog thing is for—it’s a sex thing. We talked about this.”

Her owner was so adorably dense. Cass turned her head to smile at him. She wiggled her tail in his face. She was sure he could smell her. Her panties couldn’t get any wetter. Cass decided to slowly roll them down with one hand, down her thighs, down her legs.

“Woof?” she said.

Master was so cute. He got it. Owen flipped up her skirt, and put his hand on her ass.