Morning in the Life of a Pet

Everything about her simple existence is designed to focus attention on Master. The house is always chilly while His pet is kept scantily clad or naked. This way, she stays alert and is ever so grateful for any moment near to His warm body. The pet has perpetual goosebumps and erect nipples. Her bare feet are silent on the marble floor as her day starts in the dark. She may as well still be blindfolded; she knows how to perform her tasks while He sleeps peacefully.

She must first clean her (or really, His) body and then the house after yesterday's festivities. The party had been early in the day, which made the gathering feel even more debauched. Master had to catch an early flight the next morning (which is today) but was still in the mood for a bit of vicious fun. So he invited several friends over to eat, drink and play with his pet. Well, the pretext was an orgy, but once they realized the pitiful creature was property, hopelessly submissive to Master, she was the target of all their dark desires. Something about the sight of the collar and lead unleashed all their lusts--to fuck, of course, but also to overpower and control, to revel in her defilement.

Master had kept his eye on things, both for His pleasure in watching and to make sure His pet wasn't damaged in body or mind. But they certainly made a mess! She winces as she washes in the cold tap water He allows her, uses a sponge to dissolve all the dried cum and urine from her bruised skin. The pet's little smile resembles Master's as it had tugged at His lips while He enjoyed His new acquisition. The realization that He owned a human female was like the spreading warmth of her tongue on His balls. Ownership was the mental equivalent of the hot, melting sensation of the new tongue on His anus, a feeling that spread through His gluteal muscles and along His hard shaft.

She smiles as she recalls how He'd tried not to look too pleased with Himself at his achievement. He sat in an armchair, relaxed and Dominant, blue eyes brightly taking in the bizarre displays of human behavior. He alternately sipped His whisky or nibbled His fingertip, clearly a man with a secret. For, you see, Master had hypnotized her. This, the woman had allowed, because that's how this trick is done. She'd wanted it, felt her sense of self slipping away on the sounds of His mellifluous voice. Master's voice is marvelous. She can't remember a time that voice wasn't in her ear or her mind, commanding her, dominating her, filling her with the most crushing desire to please Him.

The pet had been fastened on all fours to a low table which brought her useful holes to the right height for most of the guests. When two men had shared her--one, sharply scented, in her mouth, the other in her cunt from behind--Master had nonchalantly referred to the act as a "spit-roast." She'd forgotten herself and squealed in delight, throwing back her hips to take the cock deeper and gobbling the slippery one in her throat like the sex pig she was.

It was a little like being over an open flame because her body was on fire. Sweat began to bead at the small of her arched back. Her cheeks flushed a deeper pink, but not with shame. It was just exertion and lust showing on her pale complexion.

The pet shuddered at the memory of how she'd locked eyes with Master and thought His vibrant gaze made him look like the only person truly alive, the only one whose perception she could trust. He was hypnotic, even when not controlling her with His voice. Without breaking their eye contact, He replied to a guest's question in his professorial cadence. "No, not all the time. Condoms today because she'd probably get pregnant."

"Yes, and that would spoil your fun... and that figure," the woman answered in her dry American drawl. The pet recognized her voice as a lecturer in art history. She was erudite, but not dynamic and engaging like Master was in the auditorium. He had been the pet's academic advisor, too.

"Maybe. But it's one of the things we discussed before I took her will away--that when her mind was no longer her own, I'd look after her body in certain ways. I keep my promises," He concluded. Why did that sound like a vague threat? He said it cheerfully enough.

A deep male growl brought the room's attention back to the spit-roast underway. The athletic man behind the slut was close to the edge and losing his rhythm and composure. Master wasn't especially attracted to blokes but did enjoy the sight of this one's bestial length as it split his pet's ruby red labia. She was squelching and messy as a busted pomegranate. It was pretty, in a lewd sort of way, and Master was fascinated for a brief moment.

The man moaned louder, then his average features contorted to make him look strangely sexy at that moment. He gripped the pet's hipbones to steal some last rough thrusts, then pulled back to let his orgasm splatter heavily all over her smooth back. The older gentleman in front of her withdrew from her mouth to take his hard-on over to his wife, who lounged on a sofa with her long, tanned legs open.

Panting, the pet lowered her head and tits, ass still raised, and turned her face to look at Master through her messy blunt cut.

He was biting the end of the pen He always had in His breast pocket. Master's speedy brain was always coming up with clever ideas to write down. The first time she'd spoken to Him, He'd scribbled down what she'd thought was a reading list based on their conversation. Later at the library, she discovered that all the paper said was, "See me. Friday. 9pm." That was late for a meeting, wasn't it? And presumptuous to assume she didn't have a date! She did not and He somehow knew this. She'd have canceled for Him. Did He know that, too?

"Your Master is pleased with you. For now," He added as she recovered on the table.

The pet concludes her ablutions and moves on to collect all the wine glasses, ashtrays, and dessert plates that were left all around each room of the first floor of the house. People had indulged quite freely last night! The pet wrinkles her nose at the sight of cum stains on the upholstery. She'll work on that later--she has to make sure Master's immediate needs are met before He leaves for the airport. It strikes her how odd it must seem that a being as animalistic as her can iron a dress shirt and expertly pack a suitcase. Last night, she'd urinated outside on the grass. Master had led her out on her leash when she'd whined to pee.

She felt a twinge of shame only when He'd invited His most attractive friend to watch. With a subtle nod of His head toward the backyard, Master had suggested the man might want "some fresh air." The pet sensed they'd discussed this already and, as much as she needed to, she just couldn't pee in front of the man with the pretty viridian eyes. It was painfully awkward, squatting there in the cold grass and trying so hard to unclench the urethra. When the flow finally started, it was an embarrassing flood that warmed her feet until it felt cold, sticky, and gross.

"Now, since you couldn't obey me nearly as quickly as you should have done, you'll lick some of that up."

The pet had looked up at Master, confused. Why would He ask for that? It was outside where she was supposed to pee!

He responded to her questioning eyes: "This way, maybe you'll remember the taste of piss in your mouth when you hesitate to follow a command. Don't make me wait for this, too," He said with a note of disbelief in His voice that she'd delay for a second before lapping from her urine puddle. She obeyed with enthusiasm; she was only eager to please Him again, not for what she did.

"Ow! Fuck!" the pet curses aloud when steam from the iron burns her wrist. She's daydreaming while she should be concentrating on the task. She is relieved it's just her flesh and not His clothing she burned; she likes this shirt. It's perfectly cut to fit His lean body and the material is sensuous to touch. It's one she chooses when He lets her dress Him.

Her own voice still sounds weird to her as it echoes in her mind. She doesn't really speak anymore, certainly not swear words. Her vocabulary consists of yes and no, Sir and please and thank you, Master. He chose her because she's clever. She has nothing to prove, no need to impress Him with scintillating conversation. It's not what He wants at home. And when He does, there are friends to come over and talk until they don't feel like talking anymore, either. Then they can use her, too.

The pet finishes neatly packing the things He'll need for his trip to the conference, then hurries to the kitchen. She pours her own water bowl and drinks it from her spot in the corner, even though no one is watching. She could take a glass, pour some juice and drink it like a person, but her hypnotized brain won't permit it. The thought that her behavior is odd barely registers in her consciousness. Most of her thoughts that are not commands or lusts have become a distant buzzing, like insects in a summer field.

It's so early that Master won't want much to eat. She makes His coffee the way he trained her and toasts some bread. She slices a melon and then arranges an appetizing tray to take to Him. She hopes there will be enough time for Him to use her the way she likes: Slow and face to face with His golden tongue in her mouth. Without getting this before He goes away, the pet becomes despondent.

Master had, perhaps, overdone the extent of her subjugation when He'd hypnotized her. He hadn't realized just how good at it He'd become or how needy she was, deep down under her brittle, nerdy exterior. He wasn't a professional hypnotist, but in the course of some unrelated research had come across a rare manuscript from the 18th century which ignited a passion for mind control. This entwined perfectly with His dominant nature and He immediately saw the potential for sexual experiments. This pet was not His first attempt or even His first success, but she was so completely His after their final session that He'd amazed even Himself.

The pet tiptoes softly past His bed. Some nights he's allowed her to sleep in it with Him, but last night He did not. That wasn't a punishment, just Master's prerogative. The pet doesn't always understand why He does the things He does, but that doesn't matter. She has total faith in Him as if He makes the sun rise and set. This has been programmed into her intentionally.

He enjoys observing her trying so hard to be quiet and unobtrusive, to be a "good girl," the highest praise for which she dares to hope and which she eats up like dog treats.

"I'm awake," He finally says, in a sweet, sultry tone. "Now I want you to suck Master's cock. Show me what kind of slut I own."

The pet clambers eagerly into the high bed and Master shifts himself to watch. He's always been a visual lover, but being an Owner has exaggerated the trait. As he gazes down at her, he sees her soft lips are cracked to the point of bleeding, and tears streak last night's mascara down her cheeks. Her jaw must be killing her after all the use of her mouth by... everyone. Still, she devours Him like she won't eat for the week He'll be away.

'Her desire to please me is almost heartbreaking,' He thinks. He grins and presses down on the back of her head. Then His eyes do close in pleasure.