Chapter 8: Mirror & Breeding Bench

Emma crawled after Marcus into the far corner of the master bedroom, the larger tail plug from the previous night shifting heavily with every movement and sending deep, rolling pulses through her core. The play space had been transformed overnight. A full-length mirror now dominated one wall, its surface flawless and unforgiving under the soft overhead lights. Beside it stood the breeding bench—a custom piece of padded furniture, angled sharply upward at the hips with sturdy leather straps and a low backrest designed to tilt her body for maximum depth. The sight stopped her breath. I have to watch? I’ll see every second of what a filthy little pet I’ve become, reflected back at me like some obscene performance.

Her pulse thrummed in the delicate day collar still locked around her throat, its slim chain cool against her flushed skin. Marcus had left it on after their return from the mall, a subtle reminder of the public torment she had endured. He unclipped the leash from the ring and reattached it to the heavier leather collar he now held, the familiar weight settling into place with a soft click that made her stomach tighten. The larger plug’s fluffy tail brushed the backs of her thighs as she settled onto the bench’s padded surface, facing the mirror exactly as he positioned her.

“Eyes forward, puppy,” he said, voice low and steady. “You’re going to see everything Daddy does to you tonight.”

The reflection stared back at her without mercy: a naked woman on all fours, heavy breasts hanging full and pendulous, nipples already drawn tight. The black leather collar gleamed against her pale throat, the silver ring catching the light. Her face was already flushed, lips parted, eyes wide with a mix of dread and dark hunger. The tail protruded between her rounded cheeks, a blatant sign of how thoroughly she had been trained. Between her legs, her pussy glistened openly, swollen and slick from hours of denied need.

Marcus knelt behind her first, his hands spreading her thighs wider on the bench. He started with his fingers—two thick digits sliding into her soaked heat without warning, curling deep while his thumb circled her clit in lazy strokes. The stretch combined with the plug’s fullness made her gasp, the dual pressure sparking along every nerve. Then his mouth joined, tongue lapping slow and deliberate over her clit, sucking the swollen bud between his lips while his fingers pumped in a steady rhythm.