Rhoda's Pet

The address was a private lane that branches off of The Pilgrims Way. At the end of the drive, a rustic sign read 'Dog Kennels – Boarding & Grooming. The air was filled with the cacophony of barking dogs.

I pulled up to a cottage at the end of the drive. To the side, a three-car garage stood open. I spotted a gleaming Range Rover, a classic Jaguar XJS, and a vintage Daimler 420 Sovereign. "Damn, things must be good in the kennel business," I thought, my estate agent brain immediately cataloging the value of the fleet.

I knocked on the cottage door. A woman in her twenties opened it. She looked me up and down with a bored expression, then turned and shouted, "Mum, he's here." To me, she simply said, "Round the back," and shut the door in my face.

The dogs' barking grew deafening as I walked around the house. The property was surrounded by dense woodlands, making it impossible to see the extent of the land. My mind, however, kept working, calculating potential values. I figured they were sitting on half a million pounds, easy, just in the land I could see and the house.

Eventually, I found the back door and knocked. A woman in her fifties opened it. She was dressed in dirty jeans and a sweatshirt, with muddy boots by her feet. Her red hair was tied back in a bun, and her face looked weathered and hard from years of outdoor labor.

"Come in and take your clothes off."

Rhoda's words burned in my mind, a command so absolute it bypassed my hesitation. I didn't argue. I didn't ask why. I simply did as I was told.

Out of habit, I folded my clothes and placed them in a neat pile on the floor, my mind still ticking over like an estate agent pricing a property. "Come with me," the lady ordered, stepping away without waiting to see if I was following. I scrambled up, but then she stopped and looked down at me. "On your knees, animals crawl in this house."

I fell to my knees, the hardwood cold against my palms. The voice deep in the back of my head kept talking, a dull thumping in my stomach making me want to retch. I crawled after her, my knees scraping the rough floorboards.

We passed through a dark hallway, the shadows stretching long and hostile. At the end, I saw the woman who had answered the front door leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, her eyes fixed on me with a sneer. I didn't look back at her, just kept crawling.

She pushed open a door beneath the stairs. I thought it was a cellar, but instead, it opened into an extension of the house—a room set up as a professional grooming station. It smelled of soap, steel, and wet dog.

"Get up on the table," she commanded. "On your back, arms stretched up."

I followed instructions, climbing onto the cold stainless steel. It bit into my skin, a rush of cold making my nipples tighten. I lay there, arms stretched above my head, legs hanging over the edge. She didn't say a word as she walked to the end of the table and clicked the metal cuffs around my wrists, securing them to a sturdy pole. I guessed that was where they tethered dogs during grooming. She smelled of dog and cigarettes as she leaned over me to stuff a ball gag in my mouth and strap it tight.

She moved to my legs. I felt a hand grip my ankle, then the coarse friction of rope or a strap as she tied it uncomfortably to the table leg. Then the other. I was spread-eagled, completely immobilized, exposed to the cold air.

She produced a container used for spraying insecticides in the garden. She pumped the handle a couple of times and pointed the spray at me, covering my groin, chest, and underarms. Foam appeared as the liquid mixed with the air. I could hear fizzing, then my skin became uncomfortable. Then I started squirming as the discomfort became a burn. The redhead leaned against a sink, looking at her phone. She took a couple of pictures of me, sent them somewhere, and then received a reply that made her laugh.

I could hear the sound of running water. Then came the sound of a wet, heavy cloth being wrung out, along with the squeak of rubber echoing through the small room. She returned, her movements efficient as she washed away the remnants of the foam from my body. She studied me like a butcher inspecting a side of beef, nodding with satisfaction. Her work was finished.

She went to the door we had come through and shouted, "He's ready," and then she was gone, leaving me alone in the silence.

I was left alone for a few minutes, the cold air on my smooth skin, when the younger woman returned. "Look at you," she cooed, her eyes roaming over my exposed body. "You're a pretty one." She reached down and grabbed my cock, giving it a few lazy, teasing tugs. My body betrayed me instantly, the spell forcing it to swell to its full size despite my reluctance.

Mmm, I bet Rhoda likes that," she whispered, flicking the sensitive head with her fingernail. She stepped away for a moment, returning with a small tray that she placed on my heaving chest. She took something from the tray and wiped it on the inner thigh of my right leg. She blew on it to cool the wet spot, and then I heard the buzzing of a tool. A sharp, stinging series of shots erupted on my skin. I tried to crane my neck to see what was happening, but she leaned across my body, her hair falling across my face, blocking my view completely.

A little while later, she was spreading a cooling cream over the area before sticking something over it. "There, all done," she said, patting my chest. She gave my cock one last, firm tug, kissed me on the nose with a wet smack, collected her things, and left me alone.

The red-headed woman returned, carrying my clothes. She dropped them on the wet floor beside the stainless steel table. She released the cuffs from the pole, untied my legs, and removed the gag. 

I stood, my legs unsteady for a moment, and she held out a small folder. A receipt was inside.

She held her thumb over the amount and thrust a pen at me. "Sign it," she ordered. I signed, staring at the blurry black ink of my signature. She had obviously gone through my wallet to run my card without a word of permission.

Rhoda's stuff is in the boot of your car," she said, her eyes flicking to my leg. "Get dressed and don't touch that until you get home. You can go out that door."

She turned and left me alone in the quiet room,

I looked down at my thigh. A large brown plaster covered the skin, but I could see the outline of cloth beneath the bandage. I did as instructed, wrapping my legs in the damp jeans and pulling on my shirt, the fabric chafing against the sensitive, hairless skin.

I walked out to my car, feeling the keys heavy in my hand. I drove home, the car's silence filling my thoughts, wondering what they had stored in my trunk and what lay beneath that plaster.

When I unlocked the door to my flat and stepped inside, the air smelled of stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume, waiting for me.

I walked in with the box from the boot of my car, the plastic flimsy against my palm. Rhoda was sitting in the lounge, smoking. At least she was using the glass ashtrays I brought back yesterday. "Put it in my bedroom, then come back here." She didn't even look up from her phone.

I opened the door to what, until yesterday, had been my bedroom. It had been invaded. The plain beige bedding was gone, replaced by rich purple silk bedding that looked out of place and expensive. My modern, practical wardrobe and drawers had vanished, replaced by heavy, dark antique furniture that seemed to belong in a dungeon. Against one wall, there was what resembled an elongated dog cage, with metal bars gleaming in the light. Sturdy-looking rings were bolted to another wall.

I placed the box on the bed and opened the antique wardrobe. The smell of leather hit me—strong and heavy. It was a mix of leather clothing and silk, none of which was mine. I stepped out and opened the spare room. There was a cheap wardrobe against one wall. I opened it, revealing a suit, a pair of jeans, and a few shirts and T-shirts. There was a pair of dress shoes and some trainers. In the corner, I saw a pile of socks. No underpants.

I was fuming. I felt my face redden, heat rising in my chest. This is too far. My clothes were expensive. Who the fuck did she think she was? I walked out, slamming the door, and stormed off back to the lounge to throw her out.

I walked into the lounge ready for a fight. She looked up from her phone and said, “On your knees”.  It felt like a valve had been opened, and all the steam had been released, relieving the pressure. I fell to my knees, my head touching the floor. 

"From now on, you will be naked when you are in our flat. You can start right now. Strip."

She didn't ask; she commanded. I looked at her, my mouth opening to argue, to tell her that the beige bedding was comfortable and that I liked wearing clothes, but the words died in my throat. Our flat. The phrase lingered in the air, mocking me. It was my flat. It was my home. But as I stripped, folding my clothes with the precision of a soldier on parade, I knew arguing was impossible. I knelt before her, exposed and shivering.

Stand up and let me see you, she ordered.

I froze, my body moving instinctively as my hands quickly went to cover my groin. She looked at me, unimpressed by my modesty.

Place your hands behind your back and spread your legs.

I spread them, feeling vulnerable and foolish. She cupped my balls, her fingers cold and firm. "Very nice," she murmured, examining the merchandise. "Just what I wanted." She let go and tugged at the plaster on my leg. She peeled it off gently, revealing the redness underneath, and smiled.

"Now it's official, you belong to me," she declared. She pressed the plaster back into place, sealing the claim.

"Follow me to my room," she said, turning on her heel.

I crawled behind her, my eyes fixed on the tight dress she wore, watching it sway side to side with every step. We entered the bedroom, and she pointed to the end of the bed. "Kneel there."

I knelt facing the bed, my hands behind my back. She opened the box I had placed there and tipped it up. A cascade of objects fell out onto the duvet—straps, buckles, and leather cuffs clattered against the silk. "Tilt your head back," she commanded.

I obeyed, my head tilting back. Suddenly, something rubbery and heavy covered my face, plunging my vision into darkness. She adjusted it, pulling it snugly around my eyes and ears.

I could breathe, but I couldn't see. I was plunged into a void, completely at her mercy.