Chapter 10

The alarm buzzed softly—not for her, but for the woman sleeping soundly in silk sheets. Priyanka stirred first, bare feet hitting cold tiles before dawn cracked the sky. She didn’t need orders anymore; her body moved on its own now. The kitchen smelled of bitter espresso and buttered toast, just how Mistress Anya liked it. Her fingers trembled sliding the tray onto the bedside table, but the chain around her throat didn’t rattle. Not anymore.

The car ride was silent except for the clink of metal. Every turn made the heavy hoops in her earlobes sway—thick enough to hook fingers through, thin enough to tear if yanked hard. The queen of spades stud burned like a brand in her cartilage. She caught her reflection in the rearview: eyeliner, choker around her neck, and the leash coiled neatly in her lap.

The office lobby was all marble and whispers. Kneeling on the hard floor beside Heffner’s door, she counted tiles to distract from the ache in her shins. The leash clip chilled her throat. When his polished shoes stopped in front of her, she didn’t look up. Not until his gloved hand grabbed her chin.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” His thumb pressed into the fresh piercing, making her whimper. The stud felt like it was splitting her ear open. “Board meeting tomorrow. They’ll vote on whether you’re worth keeping.” His chuckle sent ice down her spine. “Pray they say yes.”

The pat on her head was worse than a slap.

By noon, her knees were raw from crawling between cupboards and his table. Every time his heels clicked past her crouched form; her stomach tightened. He “accidentally” spilled coffee on her. The scalding liquid seeped through her blouse, but she thanked him.

The leash stayed clipped all day.

Priyanka’s heart hammered against her ribs as she stood silently behind Heffner, her fingers trembling against the smooth leather of his chair. The cold air from the boardroom’s vents prickled her bare thighs beneath the scandalously short skirt she’d been ordered to wear—no panties, of course. That was The Rule.

Heffner’s voice cut through the murmurs, sharp and commanding. “Ladies and gentlemen, we convene to evaluate my pet’s progress—and her newest ... adornments.” His hand gestured toward her, making the heavy gold loops in her earlobes sway. The Queen of Spades pin in her tragus burned like a brand. “Cast your votes. Does the board approve Priyanka’s modifications?”

She squeezed her thighs together, arousal and shame twisting hot in her belly. Twelve pairs of eyes raked over her—judging, weighing, dissecting. The silence stretched until the first hand rose. Then another. And another. Relief crashed through her so violently her knees almost buckled. They approved. The humiliation of it sent a pulse of slick heat between her legs. She hated how much she craved their validation.

The next hour blurred into a haze of degrading suggestions scribbled onto the board. “No speaking unless gagged.” “Special use for members of the board.” Each new rule made her skin prickle with dread and filthy anticipation. When Heffner finally handed her the finalized list, his fingers lingered just long enough to make her whimper. The paper trembled in her grasp—her new bible of torment.

Priyanka’s fingers trembled as she held the crisp document, its words burning into her retinas. The paper smelled faintly of expensive cologne—Heffner’s signature scent—and that alone made her thighs press together involuntarily. The rules were typed in bold, unforgiving font:

1. Speech is a privilege, not a right. From this moment forward, Priyanka would only open her mouth when given explicit permission—either by Heffner himself or a majority vote from the board. Any words not pre-approved would be punished. The first offense? A ball gag for the entire workday. The second? Something far worse.

2. Her body belongs to the office. Not just to executives, but to anyone with an employee badge. The receptionist who always sneered at her. The interns who barely looked up from their phones. If they wanted to slide a hand under her skirt during a meeting or pinch her nipples while she fetched coffee, she was to stand still and take it.

3. Daily servicing. One board member would use her cunt every afternoon, chosen at random. No condoms. No warm-up. Just her on her knees, skirt hiked up, face pressed against the boardroom table while they emptied themselves inside her. She’d thank them afterward—silently, of course—with a deep bow.

4. Lunch breaks redefined. The newly installed glory hole in the third-floor bathroom would be her designated feeding area. Cum would drip down her throat instead of sandwiches. If she hesitated, the timer would reset, and she’d stay there until every last drop was swallowed.

5. The final transformation. Six months from now, Priyanka wouldn’t just be a slave—she’d be the office bimbo. Enhanced tits, plumped lips, bouncy butt, and a permanently vacant smile. The board had already approved the budget for implants and training.