Chapter 4: The First Taste

Emma’s fingers trembled as she crouched in the shadowed corner of the pet room, the burner phone clutched like contraband in her palm. She’d hidden it weeks ago in the lining of her old duffel bag—before the collar, before the leash, before any of this madness had swallowed her whole. The screen glowed faintly in the dim light, her thumb hovering over a half-typed message to her best friend: Something’s wrong at home. Need help. Call me—

The door swung open without warning.

Marcus filled the frame, his broad shoulders cutting off the hallway light. The leash dangled from his fist, the leather still warm from where it had rested against his thigh. His eyes locked on the phone, calm and unreadable, but the air in the room thickened instantly.

“Naughty puppy,” he said, voice low and resonant, the baritone rolling through her like distant thunder. “I thought we were past secrets.”

Emma’s stomach lurched. She scrambled to shove the phone under the dog bed, but he crossed the room in two strides, collar ring seized between strong fingers. The tug lifted her chin, forcing her gaze up. The small tail plug—still seated deep from the morning’s training—shifted inside her with the sudden motion, pressing against nerves that made her bite back a whimper. Heat flooded her face, a fresh wave of slick arousal betraying her even as panic clawed at her chest. He can’t know. I was careful. This is my only way out—

But there was no way out. Not anymore.

Marcus unclipped the wall hook and reattached the leash with a decisive snap. “Study. Now. On all fours.”

She crawled behind him down the hallway, knees dragging across the familiar carpet that still carried faint marks from yesterday’s circuits. The plug’s fluffy tail brushed the backs of her thighs with every movement, a constant, humiliating reminder of her place. Her heavy breasts swayed beneath her, nipples grazing the floor in soft, electric drags. By the time they reached the study—the same wood-paneled room where her life had shattered two nights earlier—her pulse hammered in her ears and her inner thighs were already glistening.

He positioned her exactly where he wanted: kneeling between his spread thighs at the massive oak desk, the leash looped once around the thick wooden leg and clipped short to her collar. The silver ring pressed cold against her throat as she settled, face level with the front of his dark trousers. The mirror he’d angled earlier stood directly opposite, a full-length pane of merciless reflection that captured every humiliating detail—her tear-streaked cheeks already flushing, the black leather collar gleaming against her pale skin, and the fluffy tail protruding from between her rounded cheeks like a mark of ownership.