“A contest,” Kenny said. “You’ll race for me first. We’ll all have a different way we encourage speed.”
Kenny set the tone — two laps, the paddle landing sharp and flat on her ass while she crawled. “Faster, pet. Earn it. You’ll learn to move when I say move.” Each swat made her scramble, desperate to avoid the next, lungs pulling in ragged gasps. Just meat on hands and knees, skin scraping the rug, silence swallowing her while their voices filled the room. Each lap erased her further. Each crawl proved she was nothing but owned flesh, pushed until they tired of the game.
Then Silas took over, tawse dangling from his hand like a snake, the split leather hungry for her skin. “Pathetic crawl. You want to be slower than a turtle? No. You’ll bleed before I let youshame me like that.” The tawse cracked across her thighs, white-hot and searing, and her crawl turned frantic, knees scraping the rug raw. She tried to anticipate his strikes, but he was chaos — hitting when she thought she was safe, sparing her when she thought she’d earned pain. Every second was torment, her body clenching in dread.
By the time Boone stood, strap in hand, she was dizzy with exertion, chest heaving, muscles on fire. He tapped the strap against his palm, eyes calm. “You know what this is for. I’m not wasting it unless you slack. Crawl clean, keep your rhythm. If I think you’re giving it your all, I’ll leave you be. If I think you’re slacking, I’ll aim for your cunt.”
Her head swam. Of course he’d seen it — the way her arms and legs lined up better when she wasn’t flinching from strikes, the way her body obeyed mechanics he’d drilled into her without thinking. She’d spent hours under his discipline, and he knew exactly how to make her move.
And so she did. Two laps, smoother, steadier, her body obeying even though it burned. Boone only brought the strap down three times, each across her exposed pussy, each a lash that stole her breath. But the rest? He let her prove what he’d already carved into her: obedience built from training, not panic.
And wasn’t surprised when Kenny announced her time and she’d crawled fastest for Boone.
Nine laps in total — three practice, six racing in their contest — left her collapsed at the edge of the rug, chest shuddering, sweat slicking her raw skin. She was stronger for the nap, but the race wrung her out, every breath a sob caught silent in her throat.
And still, worse than the paddle or tawse or strap, was the knowledge that she was less than the turtles they compared her to. At least turtles weren’t broken for sport. At least turtlesweren’t expected to perform humiliation for the amusement of men.
But she was, and she’d crawled harder for it.
“The pet needs a snack,” Silas said. “I put something together already, just need to get it from the fridge and put it in her pet bowl. One of you walk her in, and I should have it ready by the time she gets there.”
The smell hit her before she saw it, a sharp, sour, rotten-sock stench that made her stomach twist. By the time she made it to the bowl on the floor, the odor clawed at her throat: something truly disgusting mashed together with mushy pinto beans and limp asparagus.
Probably only a little more than half a cup, not much, but the sight of it made her stomach heave. A lumpy, glistening mash the color of rot, beans splitting their skins in a slimy sludge, asparagus poking through like veins. She didn’t have to taste it to know this was cruelty disguised as a snack.
“Bad pet,” Silas said, crouching down with the bowl. His voice dripped with mockery as he grabbed her chin, smearing some of the mess across her lips. “You’ll eat what you’re given or you’ll starve. That’s the choice. Animals don’t get preferences. Pets don’t get to hate food.” He shoved her face closer, rubbed the mash against her mouth like he was feeding scraps to a mutt. “Eat.”
Her body recoiled. She turned her head, the gag of disgust rising unbidden—
The shock collar lit her thigh up like fire. Kenny pressed the remote without hesitation, and the current ripped through her, not just burning but tearing, nerves flayed raw from the inside. Her body seized hard against the leash, limbs jerking without rhythm, a voiceless scream blazing in her soul.
“Don’t test it,” Kenny said flatly. “Eat.”
She bent down, trembling, and opened her mouth to the bowl. The first bite was a horror of textures: sour slime coating her tongue, mealy beans, stringy vegetable fibers tangling in her teeth, and something truly rotten. She gagged, swallowed, forced another mouthful down.
Silas laughed, crouching to stroke her bald head like a cruel owner petting a mutt. “Look at you. Obedient little toilet pet, choking down slop like it’s a feast. Good girl. Keep going.”
She ate, tears stinging her eyes, shame heavier than the taste. Each bite was a humiliation, each swallow another proof she had no say in what she was, what went into her body. Pet. Thing. Container. Filled with piss, with fists, with slop.
It was another check on her depraved fantasies list, but this one was getting crossed-fucking-off the motherfucking list. By the time the bowl was empty, she felt sick, bile rising behind her throat.
Boone scraped his chair back, slow and deliberate. “I need a toilet.”
Her stomach dropped.
And just like that, her disgusting meal became nothing more than a buffer, something to soak up what he was about to pour into her. Her mouth, her throat, her belly: all part of the plumbing now.
Boone sat spread-legged and tugged her leash until she crawled closer. His cock was already out, heavy and waiting.
“Open your pisshole,” he said, command flat, gaze cool.
She obeyed, and he angled his cock to her lips. The first rush of piss hit her tongue, bitter and scalding, and this time she didn’t freeze. Didn’t hesitate. She swallowed. Again. Again. No pause or thought. Her body worked on reflex — already fully trained to obey this new law. This was function. This was what she’d become.
When he finished, he gave a casual shake, watching her throat work the last of it down. “Good toilet.”
Shame burned deep, but worse than the shame was how natural it felt — how fast they’d broken her into this. She hadn’t eventhoughtabout resisting. She’d just opened and swallowed like that was what her mouth and throat were for. Like she’d never been anything else.
She was lower than a pet. A pisshole. A container for their waste. And the worst part was how little of her recoiled, as if she’d accepted the fact she’s now a toilet.
