Rhoda's Pet

My mind was spinning, a chaotic vortex of raw, ugly emotion. I couldn't understand why the thought of her going out to get fucked bothered me so much. It should have been a relief. It should have been the moment I had been waiting for. But instead, it felt like she was taking a piece of my soul with her. I knew, deep in the back of my mind where the spell hadn't yet reached, that I didn't truly feel this desperate. I hated everything she did. I hated the collar, the humiliation, the way she looked at me like I was a pet. But the moment she spoke, the moment she opened her mouth, my resistance vanished.

It felt like I was trapped in a living nightmare. I was kneeling naked in my own hallway, my forehead resting against the cold wooden floor, waiting for her mother. I knew I could stand up. I knew I could dress and walk out the front door. I knew I could go to my car and drive to the end of the world. But just like in a nightmare, my legs were paralyzed. The monster was coming toward me—her mother, her sister, the judgment, the humiliation—and I was frozen, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to save myself.

The footsteps on the stairs cut through the silence like a blade, pulling me back from my thoughts. The key turned in the lock, the door creaked open, breaking the tension. My pulse was deafening, pounding in my ears like a freight train.

A pair of boots appeared in front of my face—black with heavy, squared-off heels that looked like weapons, moved past me, and then another pair of high heels clicked into view, sheer stockings that glinted under the light. The air suddenly thickened with the scent of heavy perfume and the sharp smell of cigarette smoke. Great. They all fucking smoked.

The feet kept moving. They walked right past me, as if I were invisible, like a piece of furniture or a rug on the floor. They went into the kitchen, their voices loud.

"Get a dish for that.”

”Glasses for this,"

"Put that over there."

Then a pause. "Oh, I like that stove. It looks like he's got some taste."

They left the kitchen and started wandering through the rest of the flat, opening doors, humming, and examining the rooms. They discussed things they would change and things they liked, completely ignoring the naked man kneeling in the hallway, treating the house like a rental property they were critiquing.

Finally, the high heels stopped in front of me. "Come with me."

I looked up. It was the sister. She was tall, wearing a tight black dress that hugged her curves, black stockings, and heels. She led me into the lounge, crawling behind her like a dog.

The owner of the boots was sitting cross-legged on the sofa. "Ahh, here he is, our host for the night."

"Stand up, boy, let's get a look at you."

I stood up. My hands went to cover my erection instinctively, but a hand slapped mine away. "Hands behind your back, boy."

The woman on the sofa stood up. The mother. Plump, almost as tall as me, with curly black hair and gray flecks. She wore a long leather skirt and a maroon blouse that strained against her chest. She stepped closer, her hands roaming over my chest, my stomach, my neck. I closed my eyes, trembling under her touch, as she stroked my cock.

"Very pretty," she whispered in my ear, her breath hot and stale. "What do you think, Gwen? Rhoda's done well for herself. Handsome and compliant."

Gwen, the sister, smirked. "Like he's got a fucking choice. Anyway, his bitch of a sister is more my taste."

I looked up in shock, desperate to speak, but the command from Rhoda was stuck in my throat, a prison of silence. Gwen laughed at my panic, her eyes gleaming with dark, predatory knowledge.

"He doesn't know," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "She hasn't told him everything. Ha. This is going to be more fun than I thought.”

"Quite now, Gwen," the mother snapped, her voice cutting through the sister's amusement.

"Boy, there is some food and wine in the kitchen. Go set it up in the dining room, and take the silver bowl too."

I paused for a moment, the mention of my sister sparking a brief wave of defiance, but it was immediately crushed by the prominent voice at the front of my mind. I turned to leave.

"Boy. Pets crawl unless they need to walk."

I didn't argue. I went down on my knees, the Persian rug rough against my skin, and crawled toward the kitchen. I stood up again once I was safely in the kitchen, assuming this was one of those rare moments I was allowed to walk.

There was a smorgasbord of food in the bowls—cold cuts, a colorful salad, fruit, and various cheeses. Warmth and cold mingled in the air. I heard the chatter of the women walking past the kitchen doorway, their heels clicking on the hardwood as they headed toward the dining room. I carried three plates and glasses, placing them down in front of them in a neat row.

"Boy, we only need settings for two people."

I sighed softly, the sound barely audible, and picked up the third setting, carrying it back to the kitchen.’This "boy" shit is getting old, quickly,’ I thought bitterly as I emptied the bowls onto serving plates, arranging the food with trembling hands.

I carried the plates into the dining room. "Don't forget the silver bowl, Boy," the mother called out. Beside her, Gwen smirked, a look of pure mischief on her face.

By the time I returned with the wine and the heavy silver bowl, they were already serving themselves, the conversation flowing around me. I set the wine down along with the bowl. I couldn't believe that my cock was still rock hard during all of this activity, straining against the silicone ring.

"Kneel down here, boy. Hands behind your back."

I dropped to my knees right away, the hardwood pressing into my shins. My hands went behind my back, waiting for the inevitable.

Gwen stood up and moved behind me. The click of the handcuff latch sounded cold and definitive. The metal pressed into my wrists, binding them together and leaving me useless for anything but waiting.

The mother lifted the silver bowl. She started scooping food from the serving plates—cold cuts, cheese, bread, and the leftover salad—and dropping them into the silver bowl. She didn't care about how it looked. She poured red wine over the mess. Then, with a determined look, she took a fork and mashed everything together into a thick, red paste.

She placed the bowl in front of my knees. She stroked my head, her fingers tangling in my hair, and then suddenly, she grabbed a handful and jerked my head back, painfully arching my neck.

“I expect all of that to be gone”.

She kissed me softly on the nose, a condescending gesture that made my stomach twist. Then she pushed my head forward, guiding me toward the sludge.

I looked down at the mess in the bowl. It was a horrifying mix of meat, soggy bread, cheese, salad, and red wine, all blended into a thick, unrecognizable gunk. I shuffled back slightly on my knees to get closer to the bowl, needing to lean directly over it to make eating easier. I took a deep breath of the strong, fermented smell, bracing myself, and then I dove in.

Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as I expected. The red wine was strong enough to mask the flavors of the other ingredients. I knew my face was going to be a mess, a smeared puddle of red sauce and saliva, but I had no choice but to swallow my pride along with the slop.

Chewing was the toughest part; I’d sometimes get a chunk of cold meat that took a lot of jaw effort, making me gag. As I was sloshing my head around in the bowl, Isabella and Gwen chatted.

Rhoda’s name came up. Isabella asked about her date, but Gwen just smirked. "I don't know anything," she said, "other than she intends to fuck him." She laughed. "Apparently, he has made her horny," she nodded towards me. The words stung. I felt a surge of anger mixed with humiliation. I should have felt proud that I could affect her, but I just felt used.

"Lick the bowl clean," Isabella commanded, her boot tapping a rhythmic beat against my lower back.

They lit their cigarettes. As I lowered my head again, the smoke lazily drifted down from their lips, curling around me like a grey cloud. I took big, desperate licks at the silver surface, trying to suck up the last of the wine.

I paused to gasp for air when a hot ember fell from Gwen's cigarette, landing right on the silver bowl. "Oops," she giggled. "You'd better get that too. We want to see a clean bowl." Luckily, there was still a little wine in the bottom. I leaned in, my tongue darting out to catch the falling ash and the wine in one quick motion. I swallowed it down, barely registering the taste of ash over the alcohol.

I sat back up on my heels, my face slick with red stains, signaling that I was done.

They kept chatting, laughing, and sipping wine, completely ignoring me as if I were just a piece of furniture frozen in place. I knelt there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the grain of the floorboards, my back screaming in protest. My mind drifted, numb and detached.

"Look at the mess you've made," Isabella said, her voice cutting through the haze.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up”.

She stood up and turned to leave. I tried to scramble after her immediately, a primal instinct to follow my owner taking over. But the handcuffs were locked tight behind my back, digging into my wrists. I couldn't walk. I tried to crawl, but it was impossible, so  I shuffled one knee at a time.

"What the hell are you doing, boy?” Isabella exclaimed, stopping in her tracks. "Stand up! What is wrong with you?"

I froze and looked at her, and the sheer absurdity of it washed over me. I don't know why I was surprised, but I was. I knew I couldn't win. I was s in the Twilight Zone, my world completely upside down. Up was down, left was right, black was white, and everything was just utterly, completely fucked  up.