By the time the door opened again, her chest was racked with sobs, her body trembled from exhaustion and the cruel bite of the sandpapered wood. Her heart leapt that someone had come, only for it to sink when Silas filled the frame. His expression was flat, bored, as though he’d been asked to take out the trash. He didn’t look at her as if she was a person, didn’t acknowledge her sweat or tears, just unbuckled the cuffs on her ankles like he was angry he’d been sent to fetch her. He mechanically released herarms, ignoring her tears, ignoring the silent plea in her eyes. Not a word of acknowledgment.
He lifted her down like she was nothing but an object, but the sudden relief to her crotch made her whole body sag in stunned relief, trembling as sensation rushed back to skin too raw, too chewed up by sandpaper and the bruising edge. But there was no pause. No reprieve.
Silas unbuckled the shock collar, held it in one hand, and took up her leash with the other. “Crawl,” he ordered, like he didn’t care that her cunt and ass were on fire, that every brush of air across them made her flinch.
The agony was worse down on her knees. Every scurry forward ground heat between her legs, swollen tissue dragging against itself with each crawl. When she slowed, his palm cracked across her ass, a sharp sting that sent her scrambling faster. The leash stayed firm, just a reminder at her throat while his slaps kept her moving.
Outside, the cold was like icy teeth sinking into her flesh, and the ground chilled her knees as he walked her across the grass. “Piss. Make it fast.” His voice was flat, impatient, arms folded like a man who had more important things to do than walk the pet. She shook as she forced herself down, cunt screaming from the stretch, fire on raw nerves when she released. The hot stream burned like liquid knives, searing down every welt inside and out, but her throat was locked in silence. And he didn’t even understand her new level of hell because her whine never made it past her lips, her pain invisible.
She trembled beneath him, unvoiced and unseen. Her agony poured out like acid, but his eyes saw only a beast squatting in the grass.
When she was done, her body gave out and she sagged, the puddle steaming beneath her.
Silas muttered, “Messy little creature, still pissing on herself.” He crouched, wiped her crotch and legs perfunctorily with a handful of baby wipes, his touch brisk, impersonal.
Then the shock collar snapped tight around the original thigh with finality, reset for the next round of training.
“Up,” he said, tugging the leash, and she scrambled forward again, every crawl a new slice of agony.
Her pain hadn’t mattered at all.
Only the mirror had seen her. And that stranger wasn’t her.
Chapter 19
The smell hit first when they neared the kitchen — savory meat and potatoes, rich gravy, buttery crust. Her stomach growled loud enough she froze, cheeks heating, but none of the men even looked at her. Someone had already scraped a portion into a metal dog bowl and set it on a rubber mat beside the backdoor like it belonged there. Half full. Enough to taunt her stomach but nowhere near enough to satisfy it.
Logic cut through the haze: they didn’t want her puking later, if the rest of the night continued like the first part. But the thought didn’t make the ache any easier to bear. She was going to be hungry all night.
The bowl looked disgusting, mashed layers collapsed into a lump of brown and pale yellow, but she didn’t care. Hunger overrode pride.
Kenny clipped her wrists behind her back, the infinity cuffs locking together, and something in her chest loosened. The familiar weight against her wrists reminded her of who she is. Willow. Hawk. Nurse.
She was more than thethingin the mirror.
Or, she would be tomorrow.
She leaned down, scooped the mess into her mouth without hesitation, and found it savory and delicious. Several bites weregone before she realized she should feel humiliated. On her knees, eating out of a dog dish while the men sat at the table with real plates and forks. But the humiliation didn’t stick. She was beyond it. This was who she was tonight. Not a woman. Not even human. Just a pet, fed on the floor.
She wished she had water to wash the thick mash of potatoes and meat, but there was no way to ask. No voice. No hands. Less than human. She swallowed hard, hunger driving her until the bowl was licked clean, her tongue dragging along the metal, her own reflection warped in the bottom.
Silas pushed his chair sideways, the scrape of wood on tile sharp enough to make her flinch. He unzipped, cock in hand, and jerked his chin at her. “I need a toilet.”
Her body moved before thought could catch up, mouth opening automatically, lips parting around the head of his cock. Hot piss poured down her throat, acrid and bitter, and this time she swallowed without hesitation, but not from calm, from conditioning.
Her body obeyed because it had no choice, and that obedience made the shame worse. Her stomach churned as the salt and bile and meat sloshed together. This wasn’t food and water. This was degradation on top of humiliation; his piss poured into the same hole where her dinner had gone.
“Efficient little creature,” Silas said. “Feed her, water her, all in one stop.”
She swallowed again, throat working like crazy to keep up with the flow, and the wordcreatureechoed like a slap. Not a woman, not even a pet.
She’d wanted this, or thought she had, but here, now, reduced to a despoiled vessel for input and waste, reality fractured the fantasy into a desecrated dream, its beautiful horrors made flesh. Her body forced to kneel in mute submission to its own unraveling, every nerve raw, every tremble a confession of need.
A vessel emptied of self, rebuilt in humiliation and silence. No voice, no will, just nerves lit and waiting for the next command from the owners who’d defiled her.
Her throat ached, but her traitorous cunt still clenched, turning her shame molten. Not just used.Debauched.
Violated.
