Dog Slave Girl

The basement was cold, the air thick with the scent of damp concrete and anticipation. Elara knelt on the hard floor, her knees aching, but she didn’t dare move. She wasn’t a person anymore; she was a pet, a possession. The thick leather collar around her neck was a constant reminder of that. A leash hung from it, trailing across the floor to where he sat in a high-backed chair.

"Did I say stop?" His voice was sharp.

Elara lowered her face to the bowl. No hands. No utensils. Just her mouth. She ate quickly, mechanically, the cool metal against her nose, the food filling her belly. He watched her for a moment, then turned to make his own breakfast at the counter. The smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee wafted down to her, making her mouth water, but she didn’t look up. She focused on her bowl, on being a good girl, on being invisible. dog slave girl

"Good girl," he murmured, and a shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. That was all she wanted to hear. Those two words were her entire world now. The basement was cold, the air thick with