Rhoda's Pet

Gwen lay on the bed, a dark shadow against the pillows, smirking as her mother reminded me of my past and the plans for my family's future. I hung there, a puppet with frayed strings, feeling helpless and in pain. My muscles trembled, crying out for rest, but Isabella had no mercy.

"Up on your tiptoes, boy," she commanded.

I obeyed. The slack in the belt provided a brief respite from the crushing pressure under my arms. Isabella reached behind me and unbuckled the belt. The moment the leather yielded, my legs gave way. I collapsed onto the floor, my breath knocked out of my lungs.

As I fell, I felt the buckle being pulled behind my back, scraping against my skin. The strap slid through the rings and landed on top of me like a heavy snake. My legs were still held together by the hobble chain, a prisoner in my own home.

Isabella looked down at me and laughed, a sound like dry leaves rustling. She pressed her heavy boot onto my back, forcing me into the floor.

"Now, don't you have something to ask me?"

I turned my head to look up at her, my face a mask of cheap makeup and misery. She stared into my painted eyes, her expression predatory.

"You were going to beg me to allow you to take my daughter for your wife, I believe."

"No, no, no," my inner voice screamed, hammering against my skull. " Run. Fight. Get up".

But my body betrayed me. I struggled against the shackles, my knees scraping the floor as I forced myself upright. I looked up at her, humiliated, and pressed my painted lips to the toe of her boot.

"Please," I whispered, the words tasting like defeat. "I want to marry your daughter. I want to be with Rhoda."

Isabella smiled down at me, her face softening for just a moment. "Yes, James. I’d love to welcome you to our family."

Gwen laughed from the bed, a chilling sound echoing through the room. "And soon we’ll all be one happy family together.”

She shoved a rubber ball gag into my mouth, pulling the strap tight behind my head until my jaw ached. "Let's get you ready for your queen, shall we, boy?"

Isabella led me to the long dog cage bolted to the wall. She opened one side and lifted the lid. "Come on, in you get." I shuffled on my knees as best I could, my arms still cuffed uselessly behind my back and my legs held together by the hobble chain. I was a clumsy beast, moving with difficulty.

Once inside, she positioned me exactly as she wanted. I had to kneel, with my forehead touching the cold floor of the cage, and my legs stretched out behind me as far as the chain allowed. She shut the cage around me with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the small space.

“Your fiancé will probably be worn out after the fucking she's had, so you need to be quiet so she can rest," Isabella sneered.

A thick canvas cover was thrown over the top, plunging me into complete darkness. I lay there, trapped in the dark, listening to the muffled sounds of the apartment. I heard kissing, then Isabella's voice commanding Gwen to get on her knees. The sharp crack of skin on skin followed, punctuated by Gwen's breathy moans of pleasure. It was a voyeuristic symphony of lust played out just inches away from me. Then, silence. I heard the rustling of clothes and the sounds of them tidying up the apartment. Finally, the front door opened and closed.

I don't know how long I lay there in the dark until I drifted into an uncomfortable, restless sleep. I woke up when the cover was lifted, and a shadow was cast over me. Rhoda bent down to look at me, the hallway light catching the heavy, caked-on makeup on my face. She looked down at me, her expression amused.

"It looks like mum had some fun with you," she said, referencing the way my face was painted. She lowered the cover and walked away, leaving me alone in the pitch black of the cage until she woke me in the morning.

Rhoda kicked the side of the cage, metal rattling loudly. "Wake up, sleepy head, work day today," she shouted, her voice echoing in the small space.

She opened the cage and released me. I stumbled, my limbs stiff and uncooperative, needing a moment to regain my balance. A deep, throbbing pain wracked my back, and the skin under my arms was raw and red, rubbed raw by the leather strap. She pulled the silicone rings off my cock and balls with a sharp snap. They left deep, red indentations that stung as blood rushed back into the skin.

"Piss," she ordered, pointing to the bathroom. "And then sit down by the sink."

I obeyed as instructed. She scrubbed my face with a harsh sponge, peeling away the thick, sticky makeup Isabella had put on the night before. She talked as she worked, her voice a constant drone of ordinary details, but her breath reeked of stale cigarettes and alcohol. It was a gross, wet sound as she exhaled, yet I felt my cock stiffen in the silence of the bathroom, betraying me. The contrast between the scrubbing and the arousal was humiliating.

"Mother was very pleased with you," she said, pausing the scrubbing to check her work. She leaned in and kissed me hard on the lips. The taste of her foul breath was overwhelming, causing my cock to twitch painfully. She tapped the end of it, a sharp finger flick. "She has given permission for me to marry you.”

The following hour was absurdly normal, a performance that felt more surreal than real. I showered under the scorching water, letting the heat wash away the dirt and the residual ache in my muscles, though the mental scars of the night before remained. I dressed, putting on the only suit left in the wardrobe—the one Gwen had moved for me. It felt like armor I couldn't wear.

Breakfast was poached eggs and toast, served on real plates instead of the floor. I was allowed to sit at the table and use cutlery. The air was thick with the smell of brewing coffee and stale cigarettes. I sat in silence, chewing mechanically, knowing I wasn't allowed to speak unless given permission. It was a strange privilege to be treated like a human being for a moment, but the tension in the room was palpable.

Rhoda lit a cigarette, the flame lighting up her face in the morning sunlight. She didn't just smoke; she blew a cloud of gray smoke straight at me. I looked up, my face flushing.

"Speak," she commanded, her eyes narrowing.

I hesitated, my mouth dry. "Er, Ms. Rhoda, I mean no disrespect, but my clients won't like it if I smell like cigarette smoke."

She blew another plume of smoke into my face, making me choke slightly. "I guess that's something you'll have to work out, isn't it?"

With a sneer, she stubbed out the burning cigarette right in the middle of my toast, turning it into a gray, charred mess. Then she slapped me across the face, the sting of the slap cutting through the fog of submission.

"Now get out of my sight. I've got a wedding to plan.”

And so, the week continued, a strange, suspended state between my old life and this new, dark reality. I made discreet trips to my parents' house, sneaking in when I knew they were out, to salvage a couple of decent suits and some dress shoes. I popped into the gym on the way to work to shower and change clothes. My work didn't suffer; the agency was thriving, and I remained meticulous.

The real battle, however, began at 3:30 PM every day. A phantom craving seized me. I craved the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. I found myself rubbing my lips, remembering how nice it would be to be kissed, to feel the cheap lipstick smear against my skin. By 4:00 PM, I was desperate, my cock hard and aching, just wanting to get home and be useful.

My inner, sane voice tried to break through a few times, shouting ‘Run, James, run.’ But it had no strength against the conditioning. I'd stop at the gym on the way home, strip down, shower, and change back into the suit I'd left home in.. But as soon as I crossed the threshold of my apartment, I was a different person. I was naked, collared, kneeling within seconds, treated like an animal, and teased until I was begging.

Later in the week, the plaster was removed from my thigh, revealing a small, round tattoo. It read: Property of Rhoda with a black heart beneath. It was a permanent brand. Later that same week, I was instructed to arrange dinner with my parents and sister to announce our wedding. I sat at my desk, booking the restaurant, feeling like a traitor to my old life, preparing to tell them their son was engaged to the woman they had never met.