It All Comes Out In The Wash

Mildred sat in her office, the glow of the laptop screen illuminating the sharp lines of her face. For weeks, she had been keeping a keen eye on the business papers and stock movements of Clements Electronics, expecting to see the tremors of a takeover, the seismic shifts of a company being gutted from within. She saw nothing. Only normal, healthy stock movements in line with the market. The numbers were steady, profitable. This wasn't the chaos she had anticipated. It wasn't the sign of a company being bled dry. She wasn't sure if this silence was good news or a far more dangerous, clever form of bad. Then the other shoe dropped. She had tried calling Amelia a few times, her calls going straight to a dead end, never an answer or a returned call. The last time she tried, a cold, automated voice had informed her that the number was no longer in service.

That's when the ice crystallized in her veins. That bitch was going to try and screw her over. Financially, it didn't really hurt Mildred. The laundrettes were profitable engines of their own, a steady river of cash. She was getting a little extra from her slut, Jane, whose student trade was depressingly reliable. But it wasn't about the money. It was about the deal. A deal was a fucking deal. You didn't cross Mildred Smith.

Her face set like stone. She opened a contacts list on a secure, encrypted drive and found the number she needed. He was a weaselly little man named Gary, a tech-ghost with greasy hair and perpetually damp palms who had installed all of her security devices and cameras. He asked no questions and knew when to keep his mouth shut. When he answered, his voice was a nervous squeak.

"Gary. Mildred. I have a different kind of job for you, if you're interested. Surveillance. Another level. Don't worry about the money. Just tell me if you can do it."

While she waited for Gary to set up the new operation, her focus returned to the immediate world, to the one problem she could still see and touch. Toby. She watched as he crawled around the plush carpet in front of her, his movements clumsy and profound. She was having some fun this evening. The leather hood was gone, replaced by a full black rubber dog mask that completely obscured his face. It had floppy ears and a built-in muzzle, transforming him from a man into an animal. For added effect, a butt plug shaped like a thick knot was lodged in his arse, from which sprouted a huge, bouncy, furry tail.

"Speak," she commanded, her voice flat. He snorted and tried to woof through the muzzle, the sound a pathetic, muffled whimper. "Beg for your food, doggy." He shuffled forward on his knees, his paws—his hands gloved in black rubber—held up in supplication, the tail wagging absurdly behind him. He was a grotesque caricature, his powerful body now just a vessel for her amusement.

She sat back on the sofa, her silk robe falling open to reveal her familiar black lingerie and the slick folds of her wet pussy. She spread her legs, giving herself over to the power of the moment, to the sight of this magnificent man reduced to a whimpering beast at her feet. She let her fingers explore, circling her clit, dipping into her heat, as she watched him wiggle his tail and pant into his mask. It was the total, unarguable mastery of him that finally sent her over the edge, and she brought herself to a very satisfying, shuddering orgasm, her eyes never leaving the broken puppet she had created