Rhoda's Pet

I knelt in the puddle of grey water, my hands clasped together like a beggar's, trembling. My brain was screaming at me to stand up, to run, to get up and run to the other side of the planet. But my body refused to move. It was a puppet, and the strings were being pulled by something ancient and powerful, stronger than my own will.

She took a long drag, blowing a plume of smoke that drifted over my bowed head. Then she flicked the butt into the wet grass, acting like she owned the world, and I owned nothing. "Up and follow me."

I scrambled to my feet, my mind screaming in protest, while my body marched obediently past the kiosk, through the ancient gate, and up Castle Hill to my building. She knew where I lived. She stood by the door to my building. I unlocked the door, and she stepped inside and held out the umbrella for me to take. “ Key,”  she ordered. 

I handed over the keys in exchange for the umbrella. I had a dread that I was handing over control of my life. I shook the umbrella out and followed her up the stairs. She was already inside, walking around my living room, inspecting it like a queen visiting a peasant’s hovel. The first thing I noticed was the heavy mud prints on my Persian rug—ugly, dark blotches on the expensive weave.

"Er, Rhoda," I said, the name rolling off my tongue as it belonged to an old friend. She turned, her expression cold. "What?" The tone was angry, sharp.

"Er, can you take your boots off? The mud is getting on the rug, and it's expensive," I stammered.

She looked at me, then down at the rug, then back at me. She walked over, and the slap cracked through the air like a whip. Even with my strength, I was forced back a step, stunned. "You will call me Ms. Rhoda," she hissed. "And if you think my boots are dirty, you should clean them."

I was taken aback by the shock, but still compelled to follow her orders. I turned to get cleaning supplies from the kitchen, but she stopped me with a glare. "Where do you think you are going?"

"To get something to clean your boots with," I replied.

"You have all you need right here," she said, pointing a leather-gloved finger at her feet. "Get on your knees and lick them clean."

I looked up at her, my inner voice getting loud for a millisecond, but her almond-black eyes bored into mine, shattering my resistance. "Yes, Ms. Rhoda," I whispered, my voice trembling.

I fell to my knees. "In the future, I do not need you to say a word unless I give you permission to talk," she commanded. "Nod if you understand."

I nodded. "Continue," she said with a flick of her hand.

I extended my tongue, scraping the grit and grime from her boots. She watched me with bored detachment, she moved to the Chesterfield sofa, and crossed her legs. I crawled to her, took the boot in my hand, and resumed licking at the leather.

It took ten agonizing minutes. My mouth was dry, coated in dirt, and I felt utterly filthy.

Take them off and put them where you keep your shoes," she commanded, "I don't want to dirty our expensive rug". Emphasizing the word 'our'.

I unzipped the boots and took them off. I went to stand, but she stopped me with a sharp glare.

“Stop. Put them in your mouth and crawl like the animal you are.”

My inner voice screamed, 'Come on, man! Get up and tell her to fuck off! You're a grown man!’ But the voice was weak, drowned out by the ancient command. I opened my mouth, bit on the soft leather, turned, and crawled to the cupboard by the entry door. I deposited the boots next to my own.

I crawled back to her, a feeling of horror rising in my chest. She had lit a cigarette. I don't smoke. In fact, I haven't smoked since that night at the caravan, and I definitely never allow people to smoke in my flat. It was a rule I enforced strictly.

She looked down at me and smirked, smoke curling from her lips. "I don't see any ashtrays. I guess you don't smoke."

I opened my mouth to speak, to scream that she was destroying my home, but the silence she had commanded paralyzed me. My throat closed up tight. "Oh well," she said dismissively, and flicked a stream of hot ash onto my polished wooden floor.

"Stand up," she commanded. I obeyed without hesitation. "Strip. I want to see what I own." The words were a command, but they cut deeper than any physical blow. I stood there, muscles tight, and peeled off my clothes. I folded them neatly, my hands moving on autopilot, my mind elsewhere.

Soon, I was naked before her. She took a drag from her cigarette, ash drifting down, and stood up. "Hands behind your back."

I did as I was told. "Not bad," she murmured, her voice like gravel. She stroked and prodded me, inspecting a prize bull she’d just bought. Her gloved hand moved over the ridges of my stomach, down to my groin, plucking at the coarse hair. "I want these gone."

Then her hand grabbed my cock. It surged instantly, like a beast waking from hibernation. She let go, watching it pulse. "That's better. Very nice." She stroked it once, twice. I closed my eyes, the pleasure overwhelming, but then her hand vanished.

I watched her stub out her cigarette on a marble Pegasus ornament. She dropped the butt next to the ornament. "Back on your knees," she snarled.

She took the belt from my trousers, threading it through the loops to make a makeshift leash. She dragged me around the apartment like a dog, exploring every corner: The dining room, kitchen, main bedroom, spare room, and bathroom. She led me into the main bedroom, turned, and lifted my chin with her gloved hand.

“You love me, don't you, James?”

'NO! NO! FUCK NO! 'My inner voice screamed, a thunderclap in my mind. But my lips moved. "Yes, Ms. Rhoda." I silenced my mind, crushed by the weight of my own submission. "Then kiss me. Stand up and kiss me."

I stood, towering over her. I bent down, gently taking her head in my hands. The kiss was wet and messy. Her heavy, cheap lipstick smeared across my mouth. I tasted stale tobacco and cheap perfume—a sensory overload that would usually make me recoil, but now it sparked a desperate hunger. I wanted her. No, it was stronger than that. I needed her.

She pushed me away. "What do you want, James?"

I want you, Ms. Rhoda. I need you.

That's nice, dear. Why don't you take my clothes off?

I obeyed. Soon, she was standing before me, naked. Her large breasts drooped over her rounded belly, her thick bush hidden between her fat legs. Normally, she would repulse me. But I felt a deep, aching need in my chest. I needed her.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Then ask me nicely. Like my good little pet."

I fell to my knees, my head bowed at her feet. "Please, Ms. Rhoda... please may I make love to you?"

She stepped on the back of my head, pushing me down to the ground. "I don't think so, James. We're not married yet. That just wouldn't be right."

I groaned, the rejection stinging like a physical blow. “But I could see how excited I make you, so why don't you relieve yourself. Show me how excited you are.” She told me. 

I reached beneath me, my hand fumbling against the floorboards, while her foot kept a crushing weight on the back of my head. It was awkward and painful, but I knew the end was near. "Good boy," she cooed, her voice dripping with that sickly, manipulative sweetness. "Show your owner you love her.”

 Everything about her excited me, even her disgusting voice. 

Don't forget to ask for permission, James. You always need to ask permission to come.

Her foot felt heavier, like lead pressing against my skull.

"Please, Ms. Rhoda, please may I come?"

"Of course you can, my pet. Show me how much you need me."

I exploded, and that’s the only way to describe it. It was violent and blinding. I pumped and pumped, feeling the hot cum splash up against my stomach, coating my skin in a thick, warm layer of my own shame.

I was breathing heavily, my chest heaving. She finally lifted her foot. "Look up at me."

The sweetness had vanished, replaced by a cold, clinical emptiness. "Look at the mess you made. You'd better clean it up." She paused, her eyes locking onto mine. "With your tongue. All of it."

She sat back on the bed, legs wide open. I bent down to the floor, scraping my tongue across the wood to lick up the drying spunk. I could hear her moaning from the bed, and I glanced up to see her hand furiously fingering herself on my mattress. I cleaned every drop, every single disgusting drop, until my tongue was sore.

When I was done, I knelt there, watching her reach a climax with a loud, desperate scream.

She lay there for a moment, then slid off the bed. She clipped the leather belt back around my neck and led me to the spare bedroom. "This will be your room. The main bedroom is mine, at least until we get married."

She had made her decision, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was just an object. She led me back to the lounge. She walked around completely naked, without a care in the world. The sight of her fleshy, hairy body made me sick, yet I needed her.

She made me kneel right in the middle of the lounge. I could feel the spunk drying on my stomach, hardening like glue. She lit another cigarette and blew a thick cloud of smoke straight into my face. "What are your big birthday plans for tonight?"

The question gave me permission to speak. "My parents and a few family friends are meeting for a meal," I said.

What time is it?

"7:30."

She looked at the clock on the wall. "Good. There's enough time. I noticed an Indian restaurant on the corner of the high street. Run and get me a chicken korma, onion bhajis, samosas, and naan bread. I'm starving. I've got some calls to make.”