Annie's Game

The days bled into one another, a monotonous cycle of servitude and degradation. They kept Chloe dressed as the rubber doll, a grotesque fixture in their home. Every morning, she was untied from the bedpost and put to work immediately. Her feet, encased in cruelly high-heeled boots, ached constantly. Her calves burned with every step, and her breath came in ragged gasps, perpetually starved for air by the crushing corset. A foul, sweetish odor began to emanate from the suit, a miasma of sweat, stale urine, and fear that both Annie and Gary pointed out to her at every chance. "You stink, pet," Gary would say, smirking, while Annie would wrinkle her nose theatrically. "It's a good thing you're not a person anymore, only a thing. A dirty, smelly thing."

Annie, with her subtle poison, had persuaded Gary to call in sick for the rest of the week. "We need to break it in properly," she'd whispered, her hand stroking his cock. "And we can't have you distracted by work." He had agreed without a second thought.

The mornings became a new ritual. They would lead the shuffling, rubber-clad Chloe into the garden. A second, thicker metal collar, large enough to completely cover the one locked around her neck, was padlocked in place. A sturdy chain snaked from it to the washing line pole, tethering her. Gary, with a disturbing lack of emotion, would then turn the powerful garden hose on her, the ice-cold water a violent shock to her system. He would blast the day's grime from the rubber suit, the force of the jet almost knocking her off her feet. Then they would leave her there, shivering and dripping, to dry in the weak English sun, a bizarre lawn ornament for the neighbors to wonder about, if they could only see through the thick hedges.

As the days went on, Annie's dominance over Gary became more overt, more absolute. It started with a simple request. "I don't like clothes," she told him one morning. "They get in the way. From now on, you'll be naked in the house." He complied. "Your cock is mine," she declared the next day. "I want access to it whenever I want. It belongs to me. It will be our pet's toy, to play with when I say." He had nodded, his eyes glazed with lust. In bed, she became rougher, more demanding. She would push him away, disappointed. "Is that all you've got?" she'd sneer. "I thought you were a man. Can't you fuck me harder?" His desperate attempts to please her, to live up to her increasingly cruel demands, only deepened his enslavement.

Meanwhile, her debasement of Chloe intensified. The morning ritual of using Chloe's mouth as a toilet now included a new horror. After Annie had finished shitting, she would call Chloe over. "Clean me," she'd command, presenting her soiled arse. Chloe, her mind screaming in protest, would obey, her tongue performing the most degrading act imaginable. Afterward, Annie would wipe the hood clean, then force Chloe to use the strongest, most acrid mouthwash she could find. Then she would reapply the deep red lipstick to Chloe's protruding lips. "Our little secret," she'd whisper, a mockery of intimacy.

Finally, on Saturday morning, they decided the costume had served its purpose. The odor had become too offensive even for them. They unlocked the manacles and, for the first time in days, unbuckled the hood. Chloe's skin was white and wrinkled from constant dampness from sweat. She was made to stand, naked and shivering in the cool air of the bedroom, a ghost of her former self.

They allowed her to shower and clean herself. As she stood under the hot water, scrubbing at her skin, she could hear them in the kitchen. When she emerged, wrapped in a towel, Gary and Annie were eating breakfast. They scraped their leftovers into a bowl, then Annie spat into it, a thick, phlegmy glob that landed in the center. She handed the bowl to Gary. "Make sure it eats it all."

Gary did what he was told without question. He took the bowl and held it out to Chloe. "Eat," he said, his voice flat. Chloe fell to her knees, her towel falling away, and licked the bowl clean, the mixture of congealed egg, cold toast, and Annie's saliva a final, nauseating humiliation.

They kept her naked, the cool Rochester air keeping her nipples hard. Annie gave Gary an address. "Take the suit," she said. "Get it cleaned and sanitized. Properly." He didn't question her. Her kiss and the way she rubbed his hair were all the instruction he needed. He dressed for the first time in three days. His clothes felt alien and heavy at first. As soon as the door closed behind him, Annie turned her attention to Chloe.

The first slap knocked Chloe to the floor. Then Annie grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the bedroom. On the bed was a box of black bin liners. "Start packing," Annie ordered. "Go into the walk-in closet. Remove all of your clothes. Every single item. Underwear, shoes, everything. Fill the bags with them."

Chloe looked at her, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Annie's face hardened. She tapped her phone, and a sharp jolt from the collar sent Chloe convulsing on the floor. Annie snapped. "Do as you're told."

As Chloe did as she was told, visibly sobbing as she pulled her own life from the wardrobes and drawers, Annie sat on the bed, looked at her phone, and sent some texts. Then she pulled Chloe's silver vibrator from the bedside table and made herself come as she watched Chloe help dismantle her own life.

Once that task was done, Annie supervised as they moved Annie's clothes into the spaces left by Chloe's. As the day went on, Annie became bored. She produced a riding crop from one of the delivery boxes. "Inspiration," she said, and began to hit Chloe with it as she passed her, a casual, stinging blow to the back of the legs or the buttocks, just to see her jump.

Every now and then, Chloe wondered why Gary was taking so long. But Gary had his own problems. The moment he walked into the address Annie had given him, a nondescript unit in a grimy industrial estate, he knew something was off. The sign on the door simply said "Specialist Cleaning Services." The man behind the counter was large, with eyes that held no warmth. "You must be Gary," the man said, his voice a low rumble. "She's been expecting you." He gestured to a door in the back. "Through there. She's ready for you." Gary hesitated, a flicker of common sense trying to break through the fog of his obsession. But the thought of Annie's disappointment, of losing her, was too much. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.