Rhoda's Pet

I followed her instructions, hurriedly dressed, and left her sitting naked, smoking on my pricey red leather Chesterfield sofa. While the food was cooking, I stopped by one of the many antique shops along Rochester High Street and picked up a couple of heavy glass "Gordon Gin" ashtrays.

The five-minute walk from the restaurant to my flat felt like a battlefield inside my mind. Every step was a battle between my conscious thoughts and the ancient instinct urging me forward. The voice that had shouted in protest along the busy street grew quieter with each turn, a whisper of doubt being drowned out by my strong feelings for her. By the time I reached my door, that voice was just a faint squeak in the back of my mind: Don't do it, run before it's too late.

But as I put the key in the lock, it was already too late. The first thing I noticed was the sharp smell of cigarette smoke, lingering in the air. My stomach sank with dread, but my cock twitched in response, giving me away instantly. I moved silently through the living room, my eyes searching for her. I saw her lying on the bed, her leather pants back on, her frilly blouse buttoned up. She was on the phone, her voice sharp and businesslike.

"I've got to go. My food's here."

I turned on my heel and headed into the kitchen to plate her meal. I heard the heavy thud of footsteps behind me. She leaned against the doorframe, watching me like a hawk, a smirk on her lips.

"Look at me," she ordered.

I turned to face her.

"On your knees."

I immediately hit the floor, the impact jarring my knees. "When you are told to kneel," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr, "your head will touch the floor."

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against the cold hardwood. My neck muscles tensed, and my posture felt painfully submissive.

”I’m letting you go to your party tonight,” she said, pacing around me, "And I don't want you back here until 5:00 PM tomorrow. You will receive a text from me with an address, and a package will be waiting for you. You will have to pay, but do not ask how much. If the person at this address gives you an order, you will presume it is from me, and you will not question it. ”

A fire burned in my chest, hot and furious. I wanted to shout, tell her to fuck off, kick her out of my flat. But I couldn't move. I was frozen, a statue of submission.

"Now," she said, pointing a finger at me. "Go and change for your party, and get out of my sight. I'm having a party of my own, a housewarming for my new home."

I tried to stand up, but she stopped me.

"Crawl, pet."

I turned and crawled back to the bedroom to change, leaving my future wife in the kitchen to eat her meal.

The dinner went well, or at least it appeared to. It was a private function at The Inn On The Lake, a nice change of pace, but my sister noticed the distance in my eyes. She tried to engage me, but my mind was miles away from the roast beef and conversation. Every now and then, Rhoda would pop into my head, and my body would betray me with a twitch in my pants.

I chose to stay at the hotel rather than stay with my parents. My parents assumed I was meeting someone, which was a sweet lie, and they didn't pry. I lay in the silence of the hotel room, the "Inner Voice" roaring back to life. "Now's the time, buddy," it hissed. "Get in your car. Drive till she's out of your mind. Call the police. Tell them somebody broke in. It's the only way out."

I looked at the dial screen on my phone, and the numbers 999 seemed to throb on the display. My hand twitched, sweat beading on my forehead. I was so close to doing it. But then I threw the phone onto the bed and, without thinking, started the ritual. "I love and must obey Rhoda," I whispered.

The chant calmed the storm. My inner voice quietened, and my cock grew hard. My hand found its way down, and an image flooded my mind—a vision from the castle. I was naked, shackled. A rusty collar was locked around my neck, a heavy iron chain attached to a ring in the castle wall. The chain was too short, too tight, forcing my neck to bend as I tried to reach her.

In the vision, Rhoda stood before me, dressed exactly as she was that day—the leather jacket, the tight leather jeans, the dirty pixie boots. She was tapping them against the gravel.

 In real life, the hand on my cock was pumping furiously.

 In the vision, I got on my knees, the gravel biting into my skin.

"Remember to ask permission, James. You must always ask permission," her voice echoed in my mind.

I was right there, teetering on the edge, the fantasy overwhelming me. “Please, Ms. Rhoda, can I come?”

She just smiled, a cold, cruel smile, and turned her back to me. The moment was lost.

I was left hanging, hard and twitching, the buzz gone. I lay there in the hotel bed, frustrated and empty, still chained in my mind.

11:46 PM. The digital clock on the bedside cabinet mocked me. I remembered Rhoda told me she was having a housewarming party to welcome her to my flat. It was my flat, wasn't it? I had to see. I had to know what she was doing in my home.

I threw on clothes and drove the ten minutes through the dark. I parked under the castle wall on the Esplanade. The chill of the night air did nothing to settle my nerves. I walked up the hill, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Standing outside my building, I saw the light blazing in the bay window. Shadows danced across the curtains—multiple shadows. My phone buzzed again. “Come up now.”

I went to the front door. It was unlocked, swinging on its hinges. A heavy, rhythmic thumping sound came from inside, a wet, fleshy sound that made my stomach turn. I pushed the door open and stepped inside,  and I was suddenly naked.

I was met with the sound of heavy breathing and the low murmur of a crowd.

"Here's my hubby!" Rhoda announced.

I followed the sound of her voice and froze. She was standing in the center of the room, shamelessly naked. A wedding veil cascaded over her shoulders, and a leather collar was in her hand.

She snapped it around my neck, the metal clasp cold against my skin. "Down," she said.

I fell to my hands and knees, crawling behind her like a dog at the heel of a conqueror. We walked into the lounge, and the world as I knew it shattered.

The room was massive, transformed into a gluttonous feast of flesh. It was a carnal circus of debauchery. Naked bodies writhed in the corners, a mosaic of skin and sweat. Some were bound in leather straps, others hanging from chains, moaning as they were whipped or fucked.

But the horror didn't stop there. I looked deeper, my eyes wide, my mouth open in a silent scream.

There, on his knees in the center of the room, was my father. He was bobbing his head up and down, taking a thick strap-on deep into his throat. It was being worn by Sheila, my seventy-year-old neighbor, who was grinning like a hyena.

Next to them, my sister was bent over a coffee table, legs spread wide, being taken from behind by Sheila's seventy-five-year-old husband. He was grunting from the effort of screwing a woman a third of his age.

And there, chained to the stone wall, was my mother. Her arms and legs were spread wide, a collar around her throat, displaying her body like a piece of meat for anyone to take. She wasn't looking at me; she was just staring blankly ahead, broken.

My best friend was prostrate on the floor, his hands chained behind his back, his face buried in my mum’s wide-open pussy, licking her with desperate, animalistic hunger.

The theme hit me like a physical blow: every person I loved and knew was here, broken, humiliated, and enslaved.

I looked up at Rhoda, my eyes filling with tears of complete despair. "That's right, pet," she purred, running a finger down my cheek. "They are all mine."

She laughed, a cruel, sharp sound, and slapped me hard across the face.

Everything turned black.

The text woke me up the next morning, vibrating on the wooden top of the bedside table. I ignored it at first, staring up at the ceiling fan. I made a pot of coffee using the hotel's supplied machine; it tasted like burnt sludge, but I needed the caffeine to wake up my deadened limbs.

I had to let my morning wood fade a bit so I could pee. I slept like the dead, despite the weird dreams and the blue balls that had bothered me all night. I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the coffee mug, staring at the phone screen. I was trying to ignore her. I was trying to ignore the fact that my life was no longer my own.

When I finally picked it up, the text was just a list. No hello, no "how are you," no orders. Just raw data—an address in Wouldham, a small village on the outskirts of Rochester. Time: 2:20 pm.

I lay back down on the bed and sighed. The mattress springs groaned in protest. The inner voice grew persistent again, screaming ‘run, run, run,’ but the stronger voice, the one belonging to the spell, told me to do as I was told. I was tired of fighting. I was tired of being James.

I spent the morning watching boring shows on the hotel TV, channel surfing like a zombie. I had a sad lunch in my room, staring out the window at the gray sky. Then I checked out. Apple Maps said the drive would take 18 minutes, but I gave it thirty. I didn't see a reason to rush toward my doom. I just drove, my hands gripping the wheel, waiting for the other shoe to drop.