The Family Pet: My Day of Submission

Light filters weakly through the cloth covering my cage. Outside, I hear the house waking up: those familiar creaks from the floor above that I already know by heart. I haven’t slept well. Of course not, with the vibrators turned on all night and the gag in my mouth. That’s how Master Marco left me before turning off the light, both holes filled, my wrists free so they wouldn’t go numb, with the warning that if I took them out without permission I wouldn’t eat all day.

The vibrators have been humming inside me for hours at a low intensity, a constant drone that kept me on the edge all night without letting me cross it. My cunt throbs, swollen and soaked, with juices running down my thighs to the blanket. The black silicone plug he put in my ass before bed is still firmly in place, and every time I shift I feel it press against the other toy, the two of them separated by barely a wall of flesh that I no longer know if belongs to me. The gag has my mouth stretched wide open, drool running down my chin, and I feel my nipples stiff as they brush the floor every time I breathe deeply.

I’ve been living in this basement for several months now. I used to have an apartment, a job, a life that now feels like someone else’s. Now I’m Sofía, the Herrera family’s pet. I chose it that way, I signed for it that way, and that’s how I live every morning when I hear the first footsteps above my head.

This morning’s are light, quick. Not Master Marco’s. I know by the rhythm. The basement light snaps on and I blink until my eyes adjust.

—Good morning, little one —Nicolás says from the stairs, the eldest son, twenty-five, with that smile that mixes genuine tenderness and calculated amusement—. How are the holes this morning?

Without waiting for an answer, he reaches through the bars and presses both toys further in. A muffled groan escapes me through the gag. He pushes the cunt vibrator all the way in with two fingers and twists it; the butt plug he moves with his thumb, in and out with a short, unhurried motion. I feel the walls contracting around both of them, the mix of fluid and vibrator saliva I’ve got inside starting to drip down my thighs again.

—You’re soaked, bitch —he whispers, and brings his fingers to his nose before wiping them on my cheek—. Dad’s going to praise you. Come on out. It’s breakfast time.

He opens the gate and I come out on all fours, as I should. The family pet is not allowed to stand inside the house unless Master expressly orders it. Nicolás clips the leash to my black leather collar and leads me upstairs. With every step the dildos shift, and I have to concentrate on breathing slowly so I don’t lose control before I’m allowed to.

The dining room smells like freshly brewed coffee. Master Marco is seated at the head of the table, his newspaper folded and an empty cup in front of him. He’s a man in his early fifties, graying hair, big hands, an authority that doesn’t need to raise its voice to be felt. Valentina, the twenty-two-year-old daughter, is typing something on her phone without looking up.

—Nicolás, how nice that you brought the bitch —Master says—. I need my coffee.

Nicolás hands the leash to his father, who draws me toward him with a gentle but firm tug. He takes the cup and holds it just under my right breast. With his free hand he starts pressing, squeezing with a technique already automatic from so much practice. Four months ago they put me on a hormonal treatment that forced me to produce milk. Since then, the family doesn’t buy dairy.

The milk falls into the cup in a thin, steady stream. Master pinches the areola between thumb and forefinger, tugs the nipple with firm rhythm, and each pull goes straight through my chest and down into my cunt, still threaded with the vibrating toy. I clamp my thighs together so I won’t moan. Valentina, still looking at her phone, extends a hand.

—Mine too, Dad.

Master fills his cup, then his daughter’s. I stay still, staring ahead, waiting for the next order.

Diana, the wife, comes in from the kitchen drying her hands on her apron. She’s blonde, well preserved, with that bearing of someone who has long known exactly where she belongs in this house. And where I belong. She looks at me for a second and nods toward the kitchen.

—Puppy, come. The kids need cereal.

I make my way into the kitchen on all fours. Diana takes my breasts in both hands and empties them over the two bowls filled with cereal. She squeezes them with flat palms, compresses and releases, compresses and releases, and the milk comes out in thick spurts that splatter over the flakes. The milk falls warm. She doesn’t drink mine; she never has. She says it feels too intimate to her, though that’s hard for me to understand, given everything else that happens in this house.

—Take them breakfast —she orders—. And don’t spill anything, because yesterday you stained the rug.

I carry the bowls carefully, moving slowly from the hallway into the dining room. I serve Nicolás first, then Valentina, who finally puts her phone down to eat.

—Thank you, pet —she says with a smile—. You’re more obedient today.

Master calls me over again. He takes off my gag and tells me to have breakfast too, nursing directly from my own breasts what’s left. I suck first one nipple, then the other, tasting the sweet flavor of my own milk on my tongue, while Master watches me with the cup in his hand and a half-smile. It’s enough to curb my hunger for the moment, though I know I’ll be hungry by noon. I wonder what they have planned for today.

***

Diana takes me by the leash and leads me to the back patio. The morning sun is still soft, but in an hour it will burn. She puts me on all fours on the grass and brings out the hose. Cold water slams over me; she concentrates the stream on the places that need to be perfectly clean, with that mechanical efficiency that feels more humiliating than any insult. She opens my ass with one hand and directs the stream straight into the hole, then lowers it to my cunt, parting the lips with two fingers so the water can get inside. Then she inserts the hose tip where it belongs to make sure everything is immaculate inside too. First in front, until my belly swells and I have to expel the water over the grass in several bursts; then from behind, with the hose buried deep inside me, until Diana decides I’m clean enough.

It’s the only time of day I’m allowed to take a shit without asking permission.

When she’s done, she leaves me stretched out on the grass in the sun so I can dry in the air. My skin burns on my shoulders. I know I’m going to turn red.

I hear the back door open. It’s Nicolás’ footsteps, unmistakable.

—Easy —he says softly, crouching beside me—. I’ll put the protector on you now.

He takes a small jar from his college bag and spreads the cream over my shoulders, back, and legs. He does it quickly, without ceremony, but carefully. He’s the only one in the family who does it. Then he gives me a soft kiss on the forehead and stands.

—Behave today —he whispers.

And he leaves for class.

I stare at the sky until Master comes out to the patio and tells me it’s time to get dressed.

***

In the basement, Master opens the wardrobe where he keeps my clothes and toys. He runs his eyes over the hangers, unhurried, like someone choosing which paint to use for a picture. Finally he takes out a short fuchsia skirt, a very tight white top, and some silver heels.

—We’re going out today —he says—. I’ve got things to sort out and you’re coming with me.

I get dressed without help, which is no longer easy when the top has to go over breasts that are still producing milk. Master chooses the metal anal plug, the one with a stone set into the base, and the small remote-controlled vibrator for the front. Before putting them in, he makes me get on all fours on the rug. He crouches behind me, opens my ass cheeks with both hands, and spits straight into the hole, spreading the saliva with his thumb in slow circles. Then he rests the cold tip of the metal plug against my anus and pushes slowly, twisting; I feel the muscle give reluctantly, feel the metal open me until it reaches maximum stretch and then suddenly disappears inside, with the stone base sealing the entrance. I cry out softly. Master laughs.

—Good bitch.

Then he makes me turn around. He spreads my legs with his knees, rests the small vibrator at the entrance to my cunt, and pushes it in with one motion. I’m so wet already that it goes in without resistance, all the way. Once they’re in place, he comes close and slides his fingers between my legs, skirting the center without touching it, testing my patience until my knees start to bend. With his index and middle finger he traces the lips from the outside, one slow pass on each side, never brushing the clit, never going inside. I start trembling and bite my lip so I won’t beg.

He stops.

—Not yet —he says—. Put on doll makeup and make that ponytail nice and high.

I obey in front of the basement bathroom mirror. When I’m done, Master wraps several bills inside a condom and carefully inserts it into me, alongside the vibrator. I feel the hard bundle pushing the toy deeper, pressing against my cervix.

—If anything falls out, you pick it up —he says—. With that skirt, everything will be on display.

We go upstairs. We leave. He puts me in the passenger seat and before starting the car he gives me the usual instructions:

—Legs open, hand on the clit. You stop right before you get there. Every time you stop, the top comes down.

The drive takes almost twenty minutes. I do it with my teeth clenched, measuring the rhythm carefully, stopping three times before the edge of orgasm wipes my judgment clean. I pull my skirt up to my waist and slide my right hand between my legs. With two fingers I part the lips and start rubbing my clit in small circles, at first softly, feeling the tip grow slick with my own juices. The vibrator inside keeps humming, the bundle of bills pushes every time I breathe, the metal plug digs into the seat with every bump. At the first red light, the orgasm surges up like a wave and I have to pull my hand away sharply; I stay there with my fingers spread in the air, trembling, and I lower the top until both breasts pop out over the fabric. A drop of milk escapes from the right nipple and runs down my belly. I start again. At the second stop, I’m so close I clamp my thighs around my hand and let out a rough pant. I lower the top again, even though there’s barely anything left to lower. The third time I barely brush myself with one finger before having to pull back, and I’m left with my open hand against my stomach, breathing as if I’d been running. Every time I stop, I lower the top. Master drives without looking at me and without saying anything, but on two occasions I catch him smiling faintly.

***

The shopping mall is large and there aren’t many people at this hour. Master gives me the leash and we go straight into the store I already recognize from the first visit. The man behind the counter greets us with a nod. A couple browsing the shelves in the back glances our way and turns around.

—Pick one you like —Master says, and points to the aisle of non-vibrating dildos.

I walk slowly between the displays. There are all sizes and shapes: smooth, textured, suction-cupped, with impossible curves. I stop in front of an iridescent pink resin one, nearly thirty centimeters long, with a spiral texture that looks designed to hurt in the most specific way possible. The base is thick as a wrist; the glans, broad and bulbous, has a pronounced ridge that digs into my palm when I grip it. I won’t be able to use it for long. But I want it.

I take it to Master. He examines it, with that mocking smile I know so well.

—You’re going to need a lot of lube for that monster, little one.

Then he shows me what he’s chosen: a metal chastity belt and a blue-and-white cheerleader outfit. I picture the two things together and my stomach flips.

We go to pay. When the cashier takes the money, I feel the intense vibration of the remote control kick on all at once. I slide my fingers in slowly, searching for the condom without losing control in front of the boy who is watching us without hiding it. Two fingers go in soaked, working their way along the vibrator that’s now roaring at full power, and I fumble for the knot in the condom. The boy at the counter bites his lip and looks down at the bulge growing in his pants. I breathe through my mouth, my thighs trembling, feeling the vibrator push me to the edge again. Master smacks my hand.

—Faster, bitch.

With one pull he takes out the condom with the bills himself, wipes his fingers on my bangs, and pays as if nothing at all were happening. The cashier pockets the money without counting it. We leave.

—Did you see him? —Master says once we’re in the corridor—. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.

He points to my chest. The milk has started soaking through the top, two dark patches on the white that leave the nipples perfectly outlined.

—That looks better —he says—. More visible. Come on, lunch time’s almost here.

***

The burger restaurant is two blocks away. We choose the table farthest from the other customers. I sit with my legs apart, as always whenever I’m allowed to use a chair. The cold air inside the place passes under my skirt with complete clarity.

—I need to go to the bathroom —I say very softly.

—Wait until the food gets here —Master replies, without looking up from the menu.

When the waitress arrives, Master orders for both of us. We wait in silence. He checks his phone. I keep my legs open and my back straight and count the minutes.

When the food arrives, he takes me to the men’s bathroom with my tray of nuggets.

—Dessert first —he says, and leans his back against the wall.

I kneel on the cold tile floor and unzip him. His cock springs out already half hard, thick, the vein standing out underneath. I grip it at the base with one hand and take it into my mouth without ceremony, tongue flat against the underside of the glans, pushing until the head touches the back of my palate. I do what I always do: slowly at first, taking the rhythm his hand on my head tells me. Up and down, up and down, with both hands buried in my ponytail, forcing me to swallow it whole until I can feel the hair at his groin against my nose. Saliva dribbles down my chin and onto my tits, mixing with the milk already seeping through my top again. He keeps me there, throat open around his cock, while I breathe through my nose and endure the gagging. When he lets me go, I rise along it slowly, sucking the entire length to the tip, sealing my lips around the glans and sliding back down. I lick his balls one by one while, with my hand, I keep jerking his slippery cock with my saliva. I return to the tip and work it with my tongue in fast circles around the frenulum, and he growls under his breath and grabs my jaw. When he’s about to finish, he places the tray of nuggets just below and fills it with sauce. The first thick, heavy spurts land on my tongue, on the nuggets, on the thumb I have braced at the base. He shakes his cock against my cheek to empty the last drops.

—There’s your dressing —he says—. Now go to the bathroom and we’ll go back to the table.

I’ve never managed to do it cleanly standing up in a bathroom. Not this time either. I come out with my calf stained and Master hands me a napkin without saying a word. We go back to the table as naturally as could be.

We eat. I dip each nugget in the semen mixed with sauce and take it to my mouth slowly, tasting the salty, thick flavor on my palate. Master talks about the plans for the new dildo, about angles and the order of the training sessions, as if he were planning a trip. I listen and eat in silence, cleaning the tray to the bottom when he tells me to.

The waitress comes over with the bill and informs us, with professional courtesy, that several customers have complained about the behavior and asks us to leave.

—Sorry for the inconvenience —Master says with complete calm—. The pet sometimes forgets not every place allows animals. Sofía, apologize to the young lady.

I stand and go to the waitress, who’s about twenty-five and looks at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher, somewhere between rejection and something harder to name.

—I’m very sorry —I say—. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you...

—Let your owner give me your number —she says very quietly, with a crooked smile—. I’ll think of something.

I saw her speaking with Master for a moment before we left. He walked away smiling. I didn’t ask.

***

The tattoo parlor is three blocks from the restaurant. The tattoo artist, a man in his forties with his arms covered in black and red ink, greets Master with the hug of someone who has known him for years.

—This is Sofía —Master says—. You know what I want.

The tattoo artist looks me up and down without shame, as if assessing material he’s going to work on.

—Yes, you explained it to me on the phone. We’ll start with the hearts around the areolas and the arrow on the inner thigh. The drawing from the other commission too?

Master nods. He takes the new dildo from the shopping bag and puts it in my hands.

—So you can keep yourself entertained while he works.

The tattoo artist prepares the machine. I lie down on the table with my teeth clenched around the pink silicone, biting it hard so I won’t scream with every pass of the needle. The pain is sharp, constant, without the sweetness of other pains I already know. It’s almost four hours. My skin burns as if a wet coal had been passed over it. The tattoo artist works in silence, focused, and only speaks to ask me to change position.

When he finishes, he takes off his gloves and examines the work with satisfaction.

—That’s enough for today. Next session in two weeks to finish the hip piece.

He approaches slowly. Without asking, without announcing it, he lifts my skirt and moves the underwear aside. The plug is still in place. He removes it with an expert twist and sets it on the instrument table with the same care he’d use to put down a work tool. What happens next is long and methodical and has nothing improvised about it. He lowers his pants to his knees. He’s hard and thick, curved upward, the glans already shiny with pre-cum. He makes me turn over on the table, face down, with the freshly tattooed skin of my areolas burning against the vinyl, and he yanks my hips until my ass is in the air, at the edge of the table. He spits between my cheeks, spreads the saliva with two fingers around the ring stretched by the plug, and rests the tip of his cock against the hole. He pushes all the way in with one thrust. I scream into the dildo. He waits a second, his balls pressed against my cunt, and then starts fucking my ass with long, regular strokes, his left hand gripping my hip, his right hand yanking my ponytail, pulling my head back. Each thrust sends my belly against the edge of the table, each withdrawal leaves my anus open for an instant before filling it again. With his other hand he reaches under me, snatches the vibrator out of my cunt with a yank, and throws it to the floor; then he slides three fingers in its place, curling them upward, searching for the spot he knows how to find. Cock in my ass, fingers in my cunt, the spiral texture of the dildo scraping my palate: it’s too much, and still I squeeze my eyes shut and bite down harder. I keep my eyes closed and my palms flat on the table. I can’t come without Master’s permission. The thought works like an anchor. When the tattoo artist finishes, he does it deep inside, his cock buried to the hilt and a hoarse shudder filling me with hot semen. He stays there for a few seconds, breathing hard, before withdrawing slowly. I feel the semen already starting to run down the inside of my thigh almost immediately. He takes the metal plug, runs it over his own cock to lubricate it with what remains, and shoves it back into me in one motion, sealing all his cum inside me.

When the tattoo artist is done, he straightens my clothes and pushes me toward the door with a firm hand on my shoulder.

—You can go now.

I step out onto the street. The late afternoon sun hits my face with all its intensity.

I look left. I look right.

No car. No Master.

I stand still on the sidewalk, with the skin of my chest burning under the stained top, semen dripping slowly down the inside of my thigh around the edge of the plug, the leash hanging loose from my black collar. The street is unfamiliar to me. I don’t know which bus to take or what part of the city I’m in. I don’t have a phone. I don’t have money. I don’t even have flat shoes, only the silver heels that make balance tricky on the curb.

I sit on the store’s front step and cross my hands over my knees.

Master always comes back. He always has come back.

A woman passes by with a stroller and glances at me sideways. An older man slows down, looks me over, and keeps walking. Two young guys laugh among themselves as they pass.

I keep my back straight, my gaze forward, and wait.