Pet

The thing called Pet, who once had a name that now seems as distant a memory as the last time it was kissed or loved, makes itself small in the corner as it tries to continue its task and pretend they aren’t talking about it.

The dildo tightly suctioned to the floor is dauntingly large and coated with saliva and other evidence of Pet's desperate attempts to make its mouth useful, so far unsuccessfully. Admittedly, progress is hindered by the intricate series of chains that run from the septum to the nipples, to the clit and finally the tightly ringed and locked labia.

Every movement pulls; every pull sends sensation to every nerve ending in Pet's most intimate areas. The man who calls himself Daddy enjoys this. He grasps the tight harness that holds Pet's head rigid, holds its mouth open in an impossibly wide O, restricts its breathing, forces Pet's head down onto the dildo until it's gagging on the girth, struggling to breathe, listening as the sounds around it grow fuzzy and distant and the black envelops it.

When the thing called Pet comes to, there is darkness, but there are giggles and the clinking of bottles and glasses, and it knows where it is, what comes next.

Some of the guests like to see the abject subjugation of this small, insignificant ball of blind obedience, and they want to know why. Why is it here? Why does it stay?

And it knows he’ll answer. He'll tell them how the Pet that once was Iris — educated, clever, pretty enough — fell down the rabbit hole one day just to see, and then never left. When they told her it was time to go, she begged. When they told her what would be involved, she begged harder still.

And now Pet exists in this state of constant arousal. It hasn’t cum in so very long. It lives for the days the enema fills it so full it almost feels like it might cum, but never does. It rubs against furniture like an animal in heat, and they laugh at it, and that just arouses it further.

And all the time it’s told it’s there to clean up after the men who are lucky enough to use the Mistress and pay for the privilege, while his mantra plays over and over in its head.

Worthless. Undesirable. Filthy. Animal.

And animals belong in cages and aren’t treated like people at all.

Pet resigns itself to its fate, and the wet that leaks from its sealed hole betrays it all.