Chapter 7: Bulk
The diet was a meticulous kind of torture.
For three days, Sasha ate by the gram. Maria, the housekeeper, presented her meals on simple white porcelain at exact intervals: 7 AM, 12 PM, 5 PM. Egg whites and unsalted avocado. Steamed cod with asparagus. A bizarre, gritty shake that tasted of chalk and algae. Her pre-workout meal of oatmeal and banana was gone, replaced by cold, boiled sweet potato and a capsule of something Cassie called “adaptive oils.”
Her body felt strange. Fuller, but slower. Her stomach was constantly just shy of satisfied, a low-grade gnawing that was more mental than physical. She trained in Cassie’s private gym, her lifts feeling heavier, her muscles responding with a dull, sluggish ache. The steel collar stayed on. She showered with it. Slept with it. It was a cold circle against her clavicle, a constant reminder.
Cassie watched. She’d lounge on the chaise in skintight lavender leggings, sipping green juice, her eyes tracking every rep. She said nothing, just observed with that vacant, hungry smile.
On the fourth evening, Sasha stood in the kitchen after her training session, the city’s neon glow beginning to bleed into the twilight sky. She was hungry, a deep, primal hunger her meticulously weighed dinner hadn’t touched.
“Puppy.”
Cassie’s voice came from the doorway. She was holding something in her hands. Not a plate. A small, stainless steel bowl. She placed it on the polished concrete floor near the kitchen island.
“Come here.”
Sasha walked over, her bare feet quiet on the floor. She looked at the bowl. Inside was a heap of food: shredded chicken, quinoa, steamed vegetables, all mixed together. It smelled good. Real. It was more food than she’d seen in days.
“Kneel,” Cassie said softly.
Sasha hesitated. The collar felt suddenly heavier. She lowered herself to her knees, the hard floor pressing into her joints. The bowl was right there. At her eye level.
“You’ve been so good with your new plan,” Cassie purred, stroking Sasha’s sweaty hair. “But I’d be lying if I said it was just about health, baby. A body like yours… it needs the right fuel to produce.” Her hand slid down to cup Sasha’s jaw, thumb tracing her lower lip. “I want you… richer. More. Everything. This,” she nudged the bowl with her toe, “will help. Now eat. You must be starving.”
The instruction hung in the air. The humiliation was a hot, sharp stone in Sasha’s gut. She was a champion. A professional. She looked up at Cassie, whose expression was a mix of tender expectation and absolute authority.
“Cassie…”
“Eat, Sasha.”
The use of her real name, the firmness in that sugar-coated voice, broke something. A final wall. Sasha lowered her head. She didn’t use her hands. She ate from the bowl. The first mouthful was shame, metallic and choking. The second was just food. She was so hungry. She ate methodically, the sounds loud in the quiet kitchen. The chicken was tender. The quinoa was buttery. It was the best thing she’d tasted in her life.
Cassie made a soft, approving sound. “Good puppy. That’s it.” Her hand moved from Sasha’s hair to the back of her neck, applying gentle pressure, holding her in place. Then that hand drifted lower, over the tight fabric of Sasha’s shorts. It groped the solid curve of her ass, possessive and firm, squeezing in time with the movements of Sasha’s jaw as she scarfed down the food. The intimacy of it was paralysing—the degrading act paired with the blatant, casual ownership of her body.
When the bowl was empty, Sasha stayed there, head down, breathing ragged. Cassie’s hand stilled.
“Look at me.”
Sasha raised her head. Cassie was smiling, her eyes dark with pleasure. In her other hand, which Sasha hadn’t even noticed, was a small bundle of slick, pink material. She shook it out.
It was a mask. Latex. It would cover her entire head, leaving only her eyes, mouth and nostrils exposed. The front was molded into a smoothed, featureless feminine face with pouting lips, blank and anonymous. On the top, where the hair would be, were two short, pert pigtails made of the same pink latex.
“A little something for home wear,” Cassie said casually, as if showing her a new scarf. “The collar is for always. This is for when it’s just us. I want to see my beautiful Amazon… simplified. Just a body. My body. Put it on.”
The bowl had been a test. This was the next continent. Sasha’s hands were steady as she took it. The latex smelled synthetic, like a new shower curtain. It was supple, slightly sticky to the touch.
She pulled it over her head. It resisted, then slid on with a faint, unsettling suction. The world narrowed to a tunnel of pinkish light. Her breathing was loud in the enclosed space. She could see Cassie’s blurred form through the eyeholes. She felt air on her mouth and nostrils, but the rest of her head was encased, pressure on her cheeks, her forehead. It was eerily quiet.
Cassie admired her. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” She leaned down, and Sasha felt Cassie’s real lips press against the molded latex ones of the mask. The sensation was distant, muffled. “You’re so much prettier like this. No more thinking face. Just a good, quiet pet.”
She took Sasha’s hand and led her from the kitchen, through the living room. Sasha moved awkwardly, her perception altered. She saw the enormous, scruffy tabby, Sir Licksalot, lounging on the back of the sofa. He regarded her new pink head with indifference, then went back to licking his paw.
Cassie led her to the full-length mirror in the bedroom. “Look.”
Sasha looked. The reflection was a shock. A giant, muscular woman in sweat-soaked workout gear, a steel collar at her throat, topped with a blank, pink doll’s head. The pigtails were absurd. Monstrous. She was unrecognizable. She was nothing. A sharp, fractured sound escaped the mouth hole—a choked-off gasp.
Cassie wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder, her real, perfect face beside the pink facade in the mirror. “Mine,” she whispered, her voice vibrating through Sasha’s back. “Every inch. Now, the rules. You wear this in the penthouse. Always. You take it off to sleep, and I’ll place it on the nightstand where you can see it. You take it off to shower. That’s all.” She bit Sasha’s shoulder gently through the fabric. “Understood?”
Sasha, inside the silent, pink prison, stared at the creature in the glass. After a long moment, the creature nodded.
“Good.” Cassie’s hands slid around to Sasha’s stomach. “Now, I think all that food needs settling. Let’s go for a walk around the apartment. On your leash. I want to see how the mask feels when you crawl.”