Living Caged: The Submission I Always Dreamed Of

My name is Sofía, and I’m twenty years old. What I’m about to tell you isn’t something I share easily: it’s the fantasy I’ve carried for as long as I can remember, the one that describes exactly how I’d want my life to be. I know a lot of people will find it incomprehensible. Others, not so much.

I want to be a family’s pet.

Not figuratively. A real pet: living in a cage, obeying orders, walking on all fours, having no will beyond what my master allows me to have. In my fantasy, that family exists. They’ve been receiving me for months in the basement of their single-family house, inside a large cage with a foam bed, a fleece blanket, and a bowl of fresh water that they change every day.

That’s how the day I want to tell you about begins.

***

The basement smells of wood and something sweet I’ve never quite managed to identify. The semi-transparent fabric covering the bars of my cage lets the dawn light through in thin, golden bands. I’m wearing a black leather collar with a silver ring. During the night, Master left me two vibrators running on intermittent cycles, one shoved deep in my cunt and another, smaller one, pressed against my clit with a harness of thin straps. My mouth is occupied with a silicone bite toy. I didn’t sleep more than three hours straight: every time I was about to fully drift off, the cunt vibrator would kick on at maximum power and shake me all over, and I’d bite down on the silicone until my jaw cramped. My thighs are sticky with dried slick and spit, and my vulva is swollen from being on the edge for hours without being able to finish. Discomfort is part of the deal, and I accepted it on all its terms.

I hear footsteps on the stairs.

The basement door opens and the light hits me full in the face. The one coming down isn’t Master Rafael, but Tomás, his eldest son, twenty-four years old.

—Good morning, puppy —he says with a calm smile, sliding his hand between the bars to press lightly on the toys—. How was your night?

He pushes the cunt vibrator in with two fingers, sinking it a centimeter deeper, and I feel my soaked flesh hug it without resistance. He lets out a short laugh when he sees the thread of clear slick on his knuckles as he pulls his hand back.

—You’re soaked, bitch. All night turned on and still haven’t come.

I can’t answer with the bite toy in. I can only move, and that’s enough.

—Come on, out. Time for breakfast.

He opens the gate and I come out on all fours. My knees already know the cold of the concrete floor. Tomás clips a leash to my collar and leads me toward the stairs. Every step I take presses the vibrators a little deeper inside, and I have to concentrate to keep pace without losing my balance. On the last few steps, the internal vibrator suddenly kicks in and makes my arms tremble; my tongue throbs behind the bite toy and I feel my impending orgasm gathering in my lower belly like a hot ball that can’t get out. Tomás doesn’t bother taking them out. It’s not his decision.

***

The dining room has large windows overlooking the garden. The family is already seated: Master Rafael at the head of the table, reading his phone with coffee in hand; Beatriz, his wife, in front of a plate of toast; Elena, the younger daughter, twenty-one, with headphones hanging around her neck and her eyes on her tablet.

—I brought the bitch for breakfast —Tomás announces.

Master Rafael looks up and calls me over with a brief gesture. I approach on all fours and wait. He takes his empty cup, positions it beneath my breast, and with his other hand works one of my nipples with calm efficiency, tugging, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until the first white drop falls to the bottom of the porcelain. He’s been giving me certain hormone supplements for several months, and since then my tits have stayed heavy, heavy and always warm, with nipples so sensitive that a mere brush is enough to make my cunt tremble. Not much milk, but enough for his coffee and for his children’s cereal bowls, which they demand to have it with every morning and won’t accept anything else in place of.

The little streams fall into the cup with a fine sound. He milks me without hurry, squeezing the tit with his whole palm when he wants more, and every squeeze sends a jolt all the way to my clit that joins the vibration still working me from inside. I clamp my thighs together.

—Still —he murmurs without looking at me.

It stirs up a strange mix of shame and pride in me that I still haven’t fully sorted out.

When the cup is full, Master lets go of me. A thread of milk hangs from my nipple and drops down my stomach. I wait behind his chair with my head lowered. Beatriz calls me into the kitchen from the doorway.

—Hurry up, puppy. The kids have university.

In the kitchen I get into position and she squeezes my tits over Tomás’s and Elena’s bowls with the efficiency of someone milking an animal. She takes a breast in each hand and squeezes downward in long strokes, making white spurts jump out and mix with the flakes. When one of the nipples slips from her grip, she catches it again without ceremony and keeps going.

—Come on, get it all out, I don’t want them complaining later —she says, and gives my right tit a dry slap that leaves the nipple throbbing.

When she’s done, she tells me to take them to the table. I serve them carefully, my tits still dripping, and return to my place.

—Now you —the Master says, pointing at my body—. Eat.

I lean over my own chest just enough to reach my nipples with my mouth and extract what’s left. I suck one first, then the other, feeling my own tongue circling my swollen flesh, and swallow my own warm milk while Elena watches me over the top of her tablet with a barely visible smile. The Master watches with that expression of his, quietly satisfied, like someone seeing something he designed working properly. The vibrator inside me kicks on again and makes me shake; a drop of milk escapes from the corner of my mouth. When he decides I’ve had enough, he nods and gets up from the table.

***

Beatriz takes me out to the patio for my morning wash. There’s nothing intimate about it: cold water from the hose, soap applied with a kitchen sponge, rinse with the same hose. The icy spray hits my tits and draws a gasp from me; it raises goosebumps from the nape of my neck to the backs of my knees. Beatriz makes me spread my legs on all fours and aims the stream straight at my vulva to “get the sticky stuff from the night out.” The water hits under pressure and makes the vibrators inside jump; I feel the plastic shifting in me with every push of the stream and clench my teeth so I won’t moan. Then she makes me lift my ass and rinses around the plug with the same indifference she’d use to rinse out a bucket.

The cold doesn’t surprise me anymore. I’ve gotten used to it the way I got used to everything else.

When she’s done, she leaves me stretched out on the grass in the sun and goes back inside without saying a word. My skin is sensitive, and the sun at that hour can leave me very red. Beatriz knows that. She leaves me anyway. Master says those are her little mischiefs and he won’t punish them.

Before too much time passes, I hear the garage door. Tomás appears with his backpack over one shoulder and a bottle of sunscreen in his hand. He crouches beside me and applies it with quick, careless movements across my back, shoulders, and legs. He lingers a little longer on my tits, smearing them with his open palm until they shine, and runs two sunscreen-slick fingers along the crack of my ass, circling the plug patiently, “so the edge won’t burn,” he says, chuckling softly. When he’s done, he gives each nipple a kiss, with tongue, and sucks on the right one for a few seconds until I arch my back against the grass. Then he stands up and leaves for class without saying anything else.

It’s the fastest thing in the world and the kindest thing anyone does for me in this house.

***

Master Rafael appears in the patio when the sun is already nice and warm.

—We’re going out today —he says—. Time to get dressed.

He leads me down to the basement, where I keep clothes stored in drawers. This time he picks out a short fuchsia skirt for me, a very tight white top that clearly outlines my nipples, and silver heels. Before dressing me, he takes out the toys from the night before. First the clit one, which he removes carefully because my flesh is swollen and red from being pressed for hours; then the cunt vibrator, which comes out with an obscene wet sound and a gush of thick slick that stains his hand. He brings it to his nose without comment, smiles faintly, and wipes his hand on my thigh.

—Nice and wet —he says—. Just how you like to be.

He wipes me with a damp towel between my legs, spreads my ass cheeks, and lubricates my asshole with two fingers he slowly rotates until the muscle yields. Then he inserts a new anal plug, one with a larger pink-crystal ornament than usual. He pushes it in little by little, unhurried, and on the last stretch gives my ass a firm slap so I swallow it all at once. I cry out with my mouth closed and my knees tremble.

—It stays inside —he says—. And this too.

He places a wireless butterfly-shaped vibrator between the lips of my cunt, held by a thin elastic that disappears into the crack of my ass, bordering the plug. He tests the control from his phone: a short pulse that makes me dig my nails into his forearm.

—Works —he says, satisfied.

Then he helps me with my clothes with that efficiency of his that leaves no room for anything but obedience.

When I’m ready, he scans my figure with his eyes for a second. Then he runs his fingers over my crotch through the skirt, just brushing the surface over the vibrator, pulling away just before I can fully respond. The heat stays.

—Put on doll makeup. High ponytail.

I do it in front of the basement bathroom mirror. When I’m done, he checks the result, nods once, and takes my leash.

—Good. Let’s go.

***

The car has beige leather seats and smells of wood air freshener. I sit in the passenger seat and he pulls out without announcing the destination. Three blocks after leaving the neighborhood, he gives me the instructions for the ride:

—Legs open. Lift the skirt. Touch yourself without orgasming. If you need to stop, lift the top.

I hike my skirt to my waist and spread my legs against the leather. I start with my clit, tracing slow circles with two fingers over the vibrator. The butterfly kicks on after the first minute and makes my hips jump against the seat. I lower my hand and part my lips with my index and middle finger, letting the tip of my middle finger work directly on the bud. My cunt leaks all over the leather; I feel the warm drip run down the crack of my ass until it hits the base of the plug.

The trip lasts almost forty minutes. I spend half of it with my fingers between my legs, chasing the edge without crossing it, and the other half with my top lifted while the fan blows over me and I wait for the heat to die down enough to keep going. The vibrator activates in cycles I can’t predict: ten seconds hard, thirty seconds off, five seconds soft.

When I get too close, I warn him, my voice shaking.

—Master, I’m about to come, please.

—Stop —he says without taking his eyes off the road.

I yank the top up. My tits are bare, nipples hard as stones, little drops of milk showing. The sun comes through the window and warms them. At a red light, the driver in the car next to us turns his head, sees me, and doesn’t look back ahead until we pull away. The Master laughs softly and pinches my left nipple until a white thread comes out and runs down to my navel.

—Let them look —he says—. That’s what I keep you like this for.

I wait, sweating, with two fingers still shining from my own slick resting on the skirt.

When we park in the lot of a shopping center, the top has two stains where the milk started coming out on its own and the leather seat shines with a little puddle under my ass.

—That’s what happens when you’re a careless cow —he says without anger, almost humorously—. Now they’ll see your nipples much better. And now you get out and walk around dripping like that.

***

The sex shop is on the third floor of a building that looks like a hardware store from the outside. Inside, there are glass cases with warm lighting and neatly organized shelves. A young couple is looking at vibrators in the central aisle. Two employees behind the counter follow us with their eyes but say nothing; one of them openly stops at the two transparent stains on my top and smiles.

—Choose whatever you want —says the Master—. You have permission today.

I browse the non-vibrating dildos. I’ve always been drawn to unconventional shapes, the ones that don’t try to look real. I stop in front of a pink one with internal sparkles and a spiral texture, about twenty-five centimeters long and as thick as my wrist. I hold it with both hands, gauging its length. I imagine the tip opening me up, the spiral scraping every inch of the walls, and my cunt responds by tightening around the emptiness.

—We’re going to need lube for that —the Master says when he sees me come back—. That much is obvious.

He also grabs a large bottle of silicone lube and a pair of nipple clamps with adjustable weights, without even consulting me.

At the register, while he pulls out the bills, I feel the vibrator switch on suddenly at maximum power. I have to clutch the edge of the counter and keep my face blank, but a long exhale slips out between my teeth and my knees go weak for a second. The plug drives into the chair beside me. The cashier puts the bills away without counting them and looks elsewhere. Beneath me, on the polished floor, a small transparent drop is left behind, sliding down my thigh. The Master turns off the vibrator as we collect the paper bag.

—Good —he says outside—. Now let’s eat.

***

The burger place is two blocks away. We ask for a table in the back, in the most secluded corner. He orders for both of us without asking me, which is what he always does and what I always expect. While we wait for the food, he talks to me about the accessories he bought, about how we’ll use the new dildo tonight —“first five minutes in your mouth so you wet it properly, then on your knees against the edge of the bed and I’ll push it all the way in”— and the order in which he’ll hang the clamps so that “your tits turn nice and purple before I milk you.” He says it softly and with the same calm he’d use to talk about any weekend plan.

When the food arrives, before I even start eating, he gets up and nods toward me.

—Bathroom. With me.

In the disabled bathroom I kneel in front of him on the cold tiles. He unbuckles his belt unhurriedly, lowers the zipper, and takes out his cock, already half hard from playing with me on the drive. I grab it with both hands and put it in my mouth without waiting for the order, licking the tip first with a flat tongue, spreading saliva all over the head, then taking him all the way down until the shadow of pubic hair brushes my nose. He lets me go for the first few seconds, then buries his fingers in my ponytail and takes over. He sets the rhythm, sliding in and out of my throat with short thrusts that make me swallow saliva and drool over my own tits. I feel the tip hit the back of my throat over and over; my eyes fill with tears and my mascara starts running.

—Take it, bitch —he pants—. Take it, we’re almost there.

His breathing changes, his cock swells between my lips, and he spills into the back of my throat with three deep thrusts that force me to swallow without tasting. When he pulls out, his shaft rests for a second against my cheek, leaving a thick line that paints me from the corner of my mouth to my chin. He lets me clean myself with toilet paper and fix my mouth and makeup in front of the mirror. My eyes are red, my lips swollen, and there’s a stubborn smear of semen under my lower lip. He wipes it off with his thumb and puts it in my mouth for me to suck.

—Good girl.

We go back to the table as if nobody has noticed anything. We eat. The waitress brings the bill with a professional smile and her eyes properly elsewhere.

***

Back in the car, with the ride instructions resumed and the vibrator on again, we arrive in a neighborhood I don’t recognize. Gray buildings, small shops, a bakery with its shutter half-down. The Master parks in front of a storefront with a small sign and the logo of a stylized needle.

Inside, we’re greeted by a man in his forties, arms covered in ink all the way to the elbows. My Master had already spoken to him before; that much is clear from the very first second.

—This is Sofía —the Master says—. You know what I need.

The tattoo artist, who introduces himself as Ernesto, takes me into a small room with a tattoo chair and an articulated lamp. He explains the two designs without looking me in the eye: one circling each nipple, the other over the pubic bone with an arrow pointing down, toward the cunt. He asks me to take everything off, lie down, and not move. When he sees the crystal plug and the butterfly vibrator between my legs, he says nothing, only adjusts the lamp.

The needle goes on for almost four hours in total. The pain is constant and changing: sometimes sharp and precise, sometimes dull and diffuse, sometimes so localized that I can’t help tensing my whole body all at once. When he works around my nipples, they get so hard he has trouble with the line, and he holds them between two fingers, squeezing them until I spit a little thread of milk that stains his latex glove. He doesn’t apologize; he keeps tattooing over it. To keep from biting my lips, I use the new dildo still in the paper bag. I hold it between my teeth with my eyes closed and count to ten again and again. When the needle drops to the pubic bone and scrapes bare bone, my entire body jerks and the crystal plug drives deeper inside me.

When Ernesto turns off the machine and says he’s done for today, the relief is almost physical.

—I’ll settle the payment with her —he tells the Master, nodding at me with his chin.

The Master nods and leaves the room, closing the door.

Ernesto doesn’t take long to tell me how I’m paying. He lowers his pants without ceremony, takes out his already-hard cock, and makes me get on all fours on the chair, with my knees at the edge. He yanks the butterfly out in one pull and leaves my cunt exposed, soaked and throbbing. The tip of his cock probes my entrance, slips once over the slick that’s dripping from me, and then he drives into me in a single thrust to the hilt. I scream against the leather chair. He grabs my hips with both hands and fucks me with hard, dry thrusts that make the freshly tattooed skin of my pubis slam against the padded edge. Every shove burns, every shove sends a jolt up to my neck.

—You’re broken open inside, puppy —he pants—. Your master keeps you nice and open.

He grabs my ponytail and pulls my head back. The crystal plug takes him too with every thrust, pressing his cock against the front wall, and I feel him swelling more and more inside me. He gives me ten, fifteen quick thrusts and comes inside me, squeezing my hips so hard I know I’ll have his fingerprints tomorrow. When he pulls out, a stream of semen mixed with my slick runs down my thigh to my knee.

—We’re good —he says, pulling his pants back up—. Well paid.

When he’s done, he lowers my skirt over my wet cunt without cleaning me, points me toward the exit, and says my master is outside. Or that’s what I understand.

***

I step out onto the sidewalk and the car is gone.

The sun is already low and the air has that dry evening chill that seeps in slowly. The neighborhood is completely unfamiliar to me. My tattooed spots ache, my cunt is open and dripping down my thigh, the plug is still lodged in me and my tits are throbbing beneath the fabric of the top. The vibrator that was left inside me is still in place but switched off. There’s nothing in the skirt pocket, because pets don’t carry phones or money.

I stand on the sidewalk without moving. I can feel the semen sliding another inch down my leg.

This is part of the fantasy, I tell myself. It has to be part of the fantasy.

Cars pass. People pass. Nobody stops. Maybe nobody is looking at me, or maybe everyone is and I can no longer tell the difference.

I keep waiting.

I always keep waiting.