“Bad pet.”
Humiliation cut sharper than the sting on her cheek. She understood. No rising up. No weight on her feet. Pets stay on all fours.
Tears blurred her vision as she forced herself into an awkward crouch on hands and knees, belly tight, peeing on all fours with her face nearly in the grass. Humiliation burned hotter than the cold air on her bare skin.
And in spite of her tears, she was aroused. Maybe because of them.
They didn’t give her time to recover.
Cold water shocked her as the nozzle was pressed into her ass, Kenny’s steady hand holding her still. The enema was ice-cold, cruel in the thirty-six-degree air, her body shuddering violently as she tried to scream but nothing came out.
“Got to make sure our new pet doesn’t shit in the house,” Silas said casually, his voice almost amused.
His words reminded her why she was doing this. Reminded her of her fantasy.Fuck, she’d asked for this. They were giving her exactly what she’d told them she wanted.
She had no choice but to release into the grass, humiliated beyond words, her body convulsing as she expelled, the water steaming in the frigid air.
And then they filled her again.
Her teeth clenched, nails biting uselessly into the mitts, the pain in her belly worse than anything she’d ever imagined. She couldn’t beg. Couldn’t plead.
They gave her a quart at a time, maybe a little more, cold water forced into her bowels until her stomach cramped and twisted. She shook her head wildly, tried to scream, but nothing came — no sob, no cry, no sound at all. Only silence, broken by the hiss of the nozzle and the men’s voices above her.
“Creatures aren’t housebroken on day one,” Kenny said, matter-of-fact. “Takes consistency. You give ’em the structure, and they learn.”
“More like a filthy stray dragged in from the street,” Silas countered, shoving the nozzle in again, flicking the valve to let the frigid water rush in. His tone was mocking, cold. “She’ll be pissing on the rug and shitting in the corner unless we train her right. Better to flush her out in the yard where her shit belongs.”
Boone crouched at her side, one heavy hand bracing her back as her stomach twisted and rolled. His voice was low, blunt. “No telling what kind of filth she’s been around. Can’t bring her inside like this, and she’ll need some serious grooming before we can play with her.”
When she expelled into the grass, her colon contracting and spasming so hard it rocked her entire body, they only watched. Impassive. Measuring. Then filled her again.
And again.
Again.
Her belly cramped so hard she thought she’d break apart, the cold slicing through her from the inside. She shook uncontrollably, tears spilling down her face, sobs clawing at her throat but never finding release. She wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but the vampire’s brain-hack swallowed every sound, every shred of protest.
“She’ll learn,” Kenny said, adjusting the strap at her wrist mitt as though it were just another tool. “It’ll stick. Same as crate training.”
“Crate training.” Silas laughed, cruel and sharp. “That’s one word for it. I’d call it scrubbing out the shit before we let her anywhere near the furniture.”
Boone’s gaze stayed on her trembling body, his words plain but heavy. “Not clean yet. Not fit for the house.”
They didn’t stop until the water ran clear twice in a row.
By the end, she was trembling so badly she had trouble crawling across the grass. Her thighs burned, her belly ached deep and sharp, and exhaustion pressed her down. Her face was wet with tears and snot, and she hated herself for the shameful pulse of arousal that still throbbed low in her body.
Helpless. Humiliated. Broken down to nothing but a silent, obedient pet. Reduced to nothing but a body to be cleaned and prepared.
Someone ran baby wipes all over her backside, her legs, and then they walked her around the yard. A leashed pet.
When the leash tugged, she scrambled forward on mitts and knees, thighs trembling from the enemas. Her belly ached, her ass throbbed, and the cold afternoon air bit at her nakedness.
She learned to walk when the feet beside her walked. Stop when they stopped. Move right or left when they did. If she could manage it, the leash didn’t tug.
“She stinks of filth,” Silas said flatly as they finally walked her toward the porch. “Barely tolerable. Needs grooming before we even think about letting her in the house.”
“Look at her hair,” Boone added, blunt as stone. “Matted. A mess. Not fit to be seen.”
