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This is the fictional story of a husband’s slow, almost invisible transformation; from partner to slave, from lover to obedient pet.
She doesn’t break him with cruelty. She manipulates him slowly, subtly, rewriting the rules one quiet command at a time.
By the time he notices what he’s become… it’s already too late.
This story explores chastity, emotional control, humiliation, and the slow, irreversible shift of power.
Start from Prologue/Chapter 1 to witness the unraveling not with a bang, but with a whisper.
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I woke curled in my cage, stiff and aching. My cheek still carried the faint sting of her slaps, a reminder that hadn’t faded overnight. The silence pressed in around me but inside my head there was no quiet. Only the punishment replaying over and over.
Three months. No release.
A full week without even the comfort of her feet.
The denial cut deeper than any cane ever could. I kept thinking about how easily she’d said it; calm, measured, like she was simply stating a fact. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t impulsive. It was her control, deliberate and absolute.
And that’s what made it worse. This wasn’t about anger. This was her teaching me my place.
I had broken a rule. I had entered her room without permission. She reminded me last night, in her calm, devastating way, that I wasn’t her man anymore. I was her puppy. And puppies don’t wander into their Owner’s private space.
The words sank deeper the more I thought about them. What if she had Mike in there? The thought burned through me like fire. My chest tightened, jealousy twisting hard but beneath it all was the humiliating truth: she was right. I wasn’t a man who could share her bed. I was her puppy, kept outside, aching, denied.
Even as I curled on the floor of the cage, I felt it again, that maddening mix of shame and arousal. She had stripped me bare with a punishment that reached into the heart of me and still my body betrayed me, twitching helplessly in its cage.
I reached for my diary and began to write, hand trembling as I emptied myself onto the page, the guilt and shame of last night, the ache of punishment, the hollow absence of her feet. Each word was a confession. When the last sentence trailed off, I closed it carefully and slid it back.
At seven, the plug buzzed. My body tensed automatically, trained to respond.
I crawled out on all fours, the tug of the nose ring no longer feeling foreign the way it once had, it moved with me now, like it belonged there. My body moved without thought, heading down the hall toward Mistress’s room, every motion pulled forward by devotion and dread.
As I crawled down the hall toward her room, a knot of confusion twisted in my stomach. How was I supposed to wake her without her feet in my mouth? The ritual had become second nature, the one moment I clung to every morning; reverent, grounding, the closest I ever came to feeling needed. Now it was stripped from me and I didn’t know what to replace it with.
But when I pushed the door open, the answer was already waiting. Mistress was awake, sitting up against her pillows, scrolling idly through her phone. She didn’t need me anymore, not for that, at least. She had planned for this, just like she always did.
Relief and loss tangled in my chest. I was spared the awkwardness of fumbling through something forbidden but at the same time, the ache hit sharp: no kissing, no sucking, no worship. My lips burned with absence, my tongue felt restless. The hollow space where her toes should have been in my mouth gnawed at me more than the cage ever could.
She didn’t even glance up from her phone at first. Only when I lowered my head and knelt beside the bed did she speak, her voice low and smooth.
“Coffee.”
That single word cut the moment clean. My place was clear. My ritual was gone.
I bowed deeper, swallowed the ache and turned to crawl away.
After serving Mistress her coffee, I slipped quietly back into the rhythm of chores. I scrubbed, dusted and folded, each task heavy with the ache of not being allowed to kiss her feet. By afternoon, I was moving on autopilot, polishing the last of the shelves, when the plug buzzed inside me.
I crawled quickly into her room. Mistress sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling idly through her phone. She didn’t look up as she spoke, her tone casual but commanding.
“Meera will be here tonight,” she said. “Prepare dinner for her as well.”
My chest tightened. Dinner with Mistress and Meera… the thought sent a shiver through me. I dreaded it as much as I ached for it. Meera wasn’t like Mistress, she didn’t soften. She was cruel and didn’t leave any opportunity to mock me and that made her more frightening in a way Mistress never was.
I bowed low, murmuring, “Yes, Mistress,” before backing out on my knees. The weight of her words clung to me and with every chore that followed my hands moved faster, sharper, driven by the nervous edge of knowing Meera would be here tonight.
I worked quietly in the kitchen, the smell of garlic and herbs clinging to my hands as I chopped and stirred. Every clink of the knife against the board, every hiss of the pan, only seemed to echo the pounding of my heart. Dinner wasn’t the hard part, cooking was easy. What knotted my stomach was who I was cooking for.
Meera.
Just the thought of her name sent a shiver through me. Mistress had ordered me to prepare for her visit casually, as if it were nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Not for me.
Last time she was here, she had peeled me open in ways even Mistress hadn’t. Her fingers twisted in my hair, her voice dripping cruelty as she dragged me into the bedroom and laughed about all the filthy fantasies I’d ever had of her. Then she painted over them with sharper, darker images; Mistress with Mike, right there in the bed where I had once dreamed of her. I could still hear her laugh, cruel and delighted, when she asked me if I wanted to suck Mike’s cock, if I’d enjoy being their pathetic little plaything.
I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I stirred the pot. It wasn’t just what she said, it was how easily she said it, how natural it felt for her to reduce me. Mistress was calculated, controlled. Meera was merciless. She didn’t just humiliate me, she enjoyed it. And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.
I set the table carefully, aligning each fork and knife, bowing my head with every placement as if the ritual itself could keep me safe. But inside, I knew the truth. When that doorbell rang, there would be no safety. Meera would strip me raw again, just because she could.
And the worst part? My cock stirred in its cage at the thought.
I had barely finished the preparations when the doorbell rang, the sound cutting through the kitchen like a blade.
My chest seized. My palms were damp. Still, I dropped to all fours and crawled toward the door, every inch of the hallway stretching longer than it should.
When I pulled it open, Meera stood there. Casual. Composed. That familiar smirk tugging at her lips, the kind that made my stomach knot and my cock strain in its cage all at once.
I lowered my head without a word, pressing my lips to her shoes.
“Again,” she ordered smoothly, her tone leaving no room for pause.
Heat rushed to my face but I obeyed, bowing lower and pressing my lips back against her shoes. I kissed them reverently, humiliated at how quickly I complied but unable to stop myself.
“Good boy,” she murmured with mocking sweetness.
I slipped her heels from her feet with both hands, carrying them carefully to the rack as though they were sacred, then crawled back to her side, head bowed.
“Cucky,” she said, her voice laced with delight, “where’s Claire?”
The name hit like a slap. I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady. “In her bedroom… getting ready.”
The word slipped out before I could catch it; her bedroom.
Meera’s smirk curved sharper, her eyes gleaming as she leaned just slightly closer. “Her bedroom,” she echoed, savoring it on her tongue like something sweet, cruel.
The shame burned hotter than her gaze. My cheeks flushed, my chest hollowed and yet, in the cage, my cock twitched helplessly.
She lingered there for a moment, her eyes flicking down to the bulge of the cage at my groin. That smirk curved wider as she crouched down, lowering herself until her face was level with mine.
“Tell me something, cucky,” she murmured, her voice sweet and sharp at once. “When Claire went out with Mike the other night… did you get hard in your cage? Sitting there, knowing she was with him? I bet you were squirming the whole time, weren’t you?”
My mouth went dry, heat rushing to my cheeks. Her eyes glinted as they searched my face, close enough that I couldn’t escape the weight of her gaze.
“Come on, be honest,” she pressed, her voice dropping into a mocking purr. “You loved imagining it, didn’t you? Pathetic little puppy, leaking just from the thought of her with a real man.”
My chest tightened, shame burning in my cheeks as I kept my eyes down. But she leaned in closer, her smirk twisting crueler.
“Oh, don’t bother hiding it. I can tell. You’re so easy to read, cucky.”
Her laughter rang softly in my ear. Then, without warning, her fingers twisted into my hair and yanked my head back, a gasp tearing from my throat as she forced my face up toward hers.
Her eyes gleamed as she inspected me like I was nothing more than an object, her gaze dropping to the ring in my nose.
“Hm…” she murmured, tilting my head side to side as though she were examining livestock. “Looks like it’s almost healed. A day or two at most. Perfect.” Her smirk sharpened. “Then I’ll finally be able to drag you around by your nose ring. Wouldn’t that be fun, puppy?”
The words sank into me like hooks. My scalp stung from her grip, my pride burned at being treated like cattle and yet my cock throbbed helplessly inside its cage. The image of her tugging me around by nothing but my nose ring was humiliating, terrifying and unbearably arousing. I hated how much my body betrayed me under her hand.
Her gaze flicked lower, to the pathetic bulge straining uselessly in its cage. She laughed, cruel and delighted. “Of course it would. Look at you. You’re hard already just thinking about it, aren’t you?”
Her grip loosened and with a final tug on my hair, she released me. Straightening to her full height, she looked down with that sharp little smirk tugging at her lips.
“Come with me, puppy.”
The command was simple but it pressed into me like iron. I lowered my gaze at once, crawling beside her as she strode down the hall.
When we reached Mistress’s room, Meera pushed the door open with easy familiarity and stepped inside. I stayed low at the threshold, head bowed, waiting. The moment the door swung open, the air shifted; warm, rich, laced with her scent. It wrapped around me before I even dared lift my eyes.
Mistress stood at the dresser, fastening an earring when Meera stepped inside.
“Hey,” Mistress greeted with a small smile through the mirror.
“Hey yourself,” Meera replied warmly as they leaned in to exchange a quick hug. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” Mistress said, smoothing a hand down her dress. “Busy but good. You?”
“Can’t complain.” Meera’s tone was light but then her eyes flicked toward me, still kneeling by the door. That smirk curved her lips as she looked back at Mistress. “By the way, his nose ring looks almost healed.”
Mistress’s eyes flicked briefly toward me in the mirror before returning to her earring. “Good. That’ll make him easier to handle.”
Meera gave a low chuckle. “Mm. I told him the same thing on the way here. Poor puppy has no idea what he’s in for.”
Mistress chuckled softly at that, a cruel little sound that stung more than any cane. Then, with the same effortless authority she might use to shoo away a pet, she said, “Puppy, go finish the preparations.”
My stomach knotted as I bowed my head and turned to crawl. Their laughter lingered in the air behind me, light and easy, as if my humiliation was just another part of their conversation. Each movement on my hands and knees carried the weight of dismissal, not important enough to stay, not worthy of their company.
In the kitchen, I busied myself with the final touches; aligning plates, adjusting cutlery, anything to hide the heat burning in my chest.
But beneath the motions, dread gnawed at me. Meera was here. The evening hadn’t even started yet and Meera had already humiliated me so deeply. I didn’t know what else she had in store, what new ways she’d find to strip me down further. The thought made my stomach twist and my cock throb helplessly in its cage.
By the time everything was ready, the table was set perfectly, every fork and knife gleaming under the light. I was still in the kitchen, adding the last touches to the dishes, when I heard the sound of footsteps in the hall.
Mistress and Meera emerged together, their voices light and casual, laughter spilling into the air. They walked toward the dining table as if it were their natural place, their conversation flowing without pause.
Mistress’s voice carried from the dining room, calm but firm. “Puppy, bring the wine.”
I made my way to the table as quickly as I could, careful to keep my posture low and obedient. My hands shook faintly as I reached for the bottle but I forced myself to steady them. Last time I had fumbled, a single drop spilled and the punishment that followed still lingered in my body like a phantom ache. I couldn’t risk that again.
I moved with deliberate care, tilting the bottle just right as I filled their glasses. Not a drop spilled this time. My heart hammered anyway, knowing both sets of eyes were on me; one indulgent, the other mocking, waiting for the smallest mistake.
I stayed kneeling by Mistress’s side, silent and still, only moving when ordered. Each time a glass needed topping up, or a dish needed serving, I rose quickly, careful and precise, before sinking back to my place at her feet. They laughed and talked above me, their conversation flowing freely, as if I were nothing more than a quiet fixture in the room, useful only when summoned.
For the most part, Meera spared me through dinner. She barely acknowledged me, only tossing out the word “cucky” whenever she needed her glass refilled or another dish brought over. Compared to the cruel taunts at the door, it almost felt like a mercy. But that small reprieve only made me more nervous because it was only the calm before the storm.
Sure enough, her smirk returned as she swirled her wine, eyes flicking between Mistress and me.
“Claire… tell me. When you eventually host Mike here and you will, someday, would you make your little cucky serve him too?”
Mistress’s gaze lifted from her glass, her eyes finding me where I knelt at her feet. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t smirk. She simply spoke, steady and sure, as if stating something self-evident.
“Yes. Who else would serve him if not little cucky here?”
Her words landed heavy but it was the way she looked at me as she said it; cool, steady, like she was reminding me of a simple truth that hollowed me out inside.
Meera’s smirk spread wider, her voice dripping with delight as she leaned toward Mistress. “Oh, I love that. You hear that, cucky? When Mike comes, you’ll be crawling on the floor fetching his drinks and bowing at his feet… while he’s up there in Claire’s bed, doing all the things you can only dream of now. Isn’t that just perfect?”
Her words slammed into me and before I could stop it, the image bloomed in my mind: me kneeling on the floor, a tray with Mike’s drink balanced in my shaking hands, bowing low beside the bed while Mistress and Mike enjoyed each other above. My chest tightened, jealousy twisting sharp but beneath the ache something deeper gnawed at me: the truth. That was my place now. Not beside her but down on my knees, serving while real men touched what I would never again. And the worst part? My cock throbbed helplessly in its cage at the thought.
Meera’s eyes dropped, then widened with sudden delight as she caught the twitch. She let out a sharp laugh, leaning forward, her voice rising with cruel amusement.
“Claire, look at him! Oh my God, he’s actually hard. He’s dying to serve Mike. Can you believe how pathetic that is?” Her voice dripped with venomous sweetness as she tilted her glass toward me. “He’s truly a cuckold… aching to serve real men while they fuck his wife the way he never could.”
Mistress’s gaze slid to me, calm and measured. For a moment she just watched, letting the silence stretch, until a small, knowing smile touched her lips.
“Of course he is,” she said smoothly. “He’s a humiliation whore after all.”
Mistress swirled her wine, eyes glinting as she cast a sideways glance at me before turning back to Meera.
“Tell me, what exactly did you do to him last time? He seems to be more scared of you than of me. When I told him you were coming for dinner, he practically went pale.”
Meera leaned back in her chair, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Oh, I didn’t do anything serious… just had a little fun. Just gave him a few reminders of what he really is. But he’s such a sensitive little puppy. A few sharp words and he melts.”
Mistress laughed softly, shaking her head as if amused by a harmless anecdote. “Maybe I need to up my game, then. He should be more scared of me than anyone else.”
The two of them shared a laugh, light and cruel, the sound blending with the clink of their glasses.
And I… I knelt at her feet, heat rising in my face, shame burning hot. They weren’t even trying to be cruel, they were just talking, casually, like I was nothing more than a pet whose quirks they compared for amusement. My fear, my shame, my brokenness… to them it was all entertainment.
Mistress wanted me more afraid of her than anyone else and Meera seemed delighted to prove she could reduce me faster, sharper. The competition wasn’t about love or care, it was about who could hollow me out more completely.
A knot twisted in my stomach. The laughter that should have stung felt like something worse, it reminded me how helplessly I belonged here, caught between them, powerless to defend myself. And yet, beneath the humiliation, my cock throbbed in its cage, betraying me. No matter how sharp the cruelty, no matter how brutal the comparison, all I could feel was the pull of devotion, the desperate need to be theirs; broken, humiliated and owned.
By the time Mistress and Meera had finished their meal, I was still kneeling silently by Mistress’s side, waiting for any sign of command. When their forks finally set down, Mistress glanced at me, her voice calm and even.
“Puppy. Go fetch your bowl.”
My stomach tightened. I crawled on all fours into the kitchen, opening the cupboard under the sink where my dog bowl was kept, hidden away with the cleaning supplies. Carrying it carefully between my hands, I crawled back into the dining room and placed it at Mistress’s feet.
Without a word, she scraped the leftovers from her plate into it. Then, with almost casual ease, she reached across and did the same with Meera’s, their scraps tumbling together in the metal dish. When the last bite slid in, Mistress nudged the bowl forward with the tip of her foot.
“Eat.”
The command landed sharp, leaving no room for hesitation.
Heat rose to my face as I bent down, lips pressing to the rim of the bowl. I ate slowly, shame clinging to me like a second skin, every chew a reminder of what I was. Behind me, Meera let out a soft chuckle, low and amused, the sound making my ears burn hotter.
“Good boy,” Mistress murmured, her voice smooth, not mocking, simply confirming my place.
I swallowed hard, forcing down the scraps, each bite heavier than the last. I could feel Meera’s eyes on me the entire time, drinking in the spectacle.
Meera’s voice cut through, her gaze locked on me.
“Well, look at him, eating scraps from that bowl without a second thought,” she chuckled, eyes glinting. “And you say he fears me more than you…”
Mistress let out a soft, amused laugh, tilting her head down to glance at me. “Well, he should be afraid of me,” she said lightly, almost teasing, letting the words hang in the air.
The words hit harder than the chuckle itself. Simple. Matter-of-fact. She didn’t even need to raise her voice to put me back in my place. My chest tightened as I bent lower over the bowl, the food turning to ash on my tongue. Fear of her wasn’t just obedience, it was survival.
The simplicity of it hit harder than any shout or cane. My chest tightened, my body trembling as I bent lower over the bowl, the food tasting like nothing at all. Every bite reminded me of how utterly small I had become, how my place was beneath her, beneath them both. Fear, obedience, humiliation, they weren’t separate; they were stitched into me, binding me to the floor, to the cage, to my own helpless desire.
I hated it. And yet, I couldn’t stop my cock from straining uselessly, betraying me as it always did. I was nothing but a toy, a shadow of a man and the more I recognized it, the deeper the humiliation sank in.
Meera swirled her wine lazily, that smirk tugging at her lips. “Funny… he’s nothing like a husband or partner anymore but I see the appeal of keeping him. A mutt who stays out of the way; never complains, never objects, not even when you’re out with other men. And on top of that, he cooks, he cleans… my place could really use him. Maybe can I borrow him sometime?”
Mistress’s lips curved, her eyes flicking toward me before returning to Meera. “Mm… perhaps not such a bad idea. You seem to have quite the handle on him already. Perhaps he could even learn a thing or two from you.”
Her words made my chest tighten. Mistress wasn’t just allowing the joke; she was entertaining it, offering me up with that amused smile. That cut deeper than anything. The thought of being left alone with Meera, without Mistress’s steady presence, hit me like a cold blade. I already dreaded her visits here. The idea of her having me all to herself felt unbearable… and yet my cock twitched helplessly in its cage at the humiliation of even being discussed like this.
Meera leaned back, her smirk widening. “Oh, of course. It would be fun to play with him a little bit.”
Mistress tilted her head, the faintest amusement in her eyes as she looked at me again. “But please don’t scare him too much this time. He’s already pale at just the mention of your name.”
Meera let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t break him. I’ll just play a little… degrade him a little…” Her chuckle was low, mocking. “I promise I’ll return him in one piece.”
The sound of their laughter clashed with the heat burning in my face. Inside, my thoughts spiraled. They were laughing about me like I wasn’t even there, like a pet that could be passed around.
And still, in the filthiest corner of me, something stirred. The thought of being bartered over, treated like nothing more than a servant to be passed around… it made my cock twitch inside its cage until the ache was unbearable. Terror and humiliation fused, trapping me in a place where I couldn’t tell which was worse; the thought of it actually happening, or the fact that it secretly thrilled me.
Meera looked at me and the moment she caught the telltale twitch in my cage, her smirk blossomed into something wicked. She leaned forward, glass dangling carelessly from her fingers.
“Well, well…” she purred. “Look at him. He’s actually excited at the thought of being passed around. I mention borrowing him for a weekend and he’s already leaking like it’s Christmas morning.”
Mistress didn’t even look surprised. She swirled her wine, gaze sliding over me with calm detachment before returning to Meera. “Of course he is. That cage makes sure of it.”
The sound of their laughter followed them as they drifted toward the couch, wine glasses in hand. Mistress’s voice cut back over her shoulder, smooth and casual, as if addressing a household pet.
“Puppy, clean up everything once you’re done eating. Then come to me.”
Humiliation burned in my chest but my hands moved automatically, gathering plates and glasses, crawling back and forth between the table and the sink.
Behind me, their voices carried easily, smooth and casual, as if I weren’t even in the room.
“So,” Mistress said, her tone lighter now, “are you excited about the event next weekend?”
Meera’s chuckle floated through the air. “Oh, you have no idea. I’m curious what kind of crowd it’ll pull this time.”
Mistress hummed in agreement. “I’ve already promised a few people we’d stop by. It’ll be good to reconnect. And I know Mike’s planning to come too…”
I caught the name but forced myself not to react, keeping my head low over the sink as I rinsed a plate. Their voices rolled on, easy and casual, while I clung to my task like it could shield me from the weight of their conversation.
“And what about him?” Meera asked with a glance toward me. “Got anything special planned for your puppy at the event?”
Mistress leaned back against the couch, a thoughtful little smile tugging at her lips. “Mm… I don’t know yet. Perhaps something like last time. Do you remember Alina, the host?”
Meera’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Of course. How could I forget her?”
“She messaged me the other day, actually. Asked if I was planning to bring him again. When I said yes, she was practically giddy.,” Mistress said smoothly, her eyes flicking toward me for the briefest moment before drifting back to Meera. “She told me she couldn’t really play with him last time since she was busy… but this time, she’s looking forward to it.”
The mention of her name immediately pulled me back to the last event. I could feel it all again; the way she had examined me before giving the tour, her sharp eyes lingering on every trembling inch of me and the cruel delight in her voice when she noticed my arousal at being humiliated in front of everyone. The memory of being stuck in that pillory, every eye on me as she mocked my helplessness, burned hotter than shame alone. Laughter had echoed around me and I had been powerless to stop the heat pooling in my cage, my body betraying me even as my mind begged for invisibility. The thought of going through it all again twisted my stomach and made my cock pulse with desperate, humiliating longing.
Meera’s smirk widened. “Oh really? I can’t wait to watch her work on puppy… see what kind of tricks she can make him do. Maybe I’ll even learn a thing or two from her.”
And I could almost hear Meera’s smirk in my mind, her voice teasing even now: “Can’t wait to see you squirm like that again, puppy… everyone watching and you leaking for all of us.”
Both of them laughed, sipping their wine, their voices light and carefree. I finished cleaning, hands trembling and crawled over to kneel beside Mistress, head lowered, every nerve on fire with anticipation and dread.
Meera leaned back on the couch, swirling her wine lazily. Her smirk widened as her eyes flicked toward Mistress. “So… how’s it going with Mike?”
Mistress’s lips curved in that effortless way that always made my chest tighten. “Mm… very well. I’m actually meeting up with him this weekend. I might even see him Friday.”
Meera raised her brows, her smirk deepening. “Friday? That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”
Mistress gave a soft laugh, shaking her head as though it had only just occurred to her. “Ah, you’re right. I nearly forgot Friday was already here.” She set her glass down with deliberate slowness before adding casually, “Now that I think of it… perhaps you’d like to take puppy tomorrow night. I might bring Mike over and it would be easier if the mutt wasn’t underfoot.”
Meera’s eyes lit up instantly, her smirk blooming into a grin. “Oh, I’d love that. I’m not too busy this weekend anyway… and honestly, even if I were, I’d still make time to play with puppy.”
Mistress only chuckled in return, lifting her wine glass again, clearly amused at how quickly Meera had taken to the idea.
I knew that this was coming. Meera and Mistress talked about it only a while ago. Still, I hadn’t expected it to be this soon. The thought of being packed off into her hands for a weekend hit me hard.
And yet… shame flooded me as I realized the truth: my cock was already straining helplessly against its cage. The humiliation of being discussed like a parcel to be sent away, the image of Mistress bringing Mike here while I was banished to Meera’s, it hollowed me out and left me aching in a way I couldn’t deny.
Mistress’s voice cut across my thoughts. “Puppy, have you cleaned everything?”
I lifted my head just enough to answer, my voice low. “Yes, Mistress.”
She gave the faintest nod, then turned her gaze toward Meera. “Good. Then come here and thank our guest properly.”
My stomach tightened as I crawled toward the couch where they sat. Meera leaned back, her smirk already forming. I bent low and pressed my lips to her foot, her skin warm against my mouth. She let out a small, satisfied hum, the sound making my cheeks burn hotter.
She let out a low chuckle as I pulled back. “Good little cucky,” she murmured, not even bothering to look at me as she reached for her wine.
The word hit me like a collar snapping shut around my neck. I hated it, the way it branded me in her mouth and yet my chest tightened with a pathetic rush of heat all the same.
Then I turned towards Mistress. Her legs crossed elegantly and her eyes fixed on me. I leaned down but I didn’t dare touch her feet with my lips. Instead, I pressed my mouth to the floor just before her toes because I wasn’t allowed to touch her in any way, not even her feet. That privilege had been stripped away after I entered her room without permission. Now, even this small act of devotion was forbidden to me.
A week without her touch, the one thing I craved most. It was going to be the longest week of my life.
She smiled faintly, her eyes cool and unreadable. “Good boy. That’s enough for tonight.”
The dismissal was simple, final. I was nothing more than a servant excused from duty. Crawling back, I felt the weight of their laughter and easy chatter filling the room again, the world moving on without me, as if I were no more significant than a chair in the corner.
And the worst part? Some broken part of me ached with pride for being allowed even that.
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