Chapter 8: A New Game: The Slut Diet
The mask became a second skin. Sasha woke to its pink gleam on the cherrywood nightstand, a silent command. She put it on before her feet touched the silk rug. The world stayed muffled, her breath loud in her own ears. She crawled to the kitchen for her morning bowl, the leash sometimes clipped to her collar, sometimes just lying loose like a promise. Sir Licksalot would trail her, his tail flicking with feline curiosity at the giant, pink-headed creature moving on all fours.
On the seventh morning, the food smelled different.
It was the same steel bowl, placed in the same spot on the kitchen floor. The contents looked identical: shredded chicken, quinoa, steamed greens. But underneath the savory scent was a faint, sweet herbiness, like overripe peaches and dried clover.
“Eat up, puppy,” Cassie said from the island, where she was thumbing through a tablet. She wore a white silk kimono, her hair in a messy, perfect knot. “Big day. We’re trying a new supplement. For your… endurance.”
Sasha, kneeling, hesitated. Her stomach growled, a deep, empty sound. The new diet had left her in a constant state of hungry readiness. She dipped her head and ate.
The taste was there too, a slight floral bitterness underneath the chicken. She ate it all, licking the bowl clean, the metal cool against her masked chin.
“Good girl,” Cassie murmured.
It began twenty minutes later. Sasha was crawling a lazy circuit around the sun-drenched living room, the leash trailing behind her. It started as a warmth in her belly, radiating outward. A soft, pooling heat. Then it tightened, coiling low in her core. An ache, deep and insistent. Her skin felt hypersensitive; the brush of the rug against her knees, the air from the vent on her neck, all of it amplified, electric. She stopped crawling, breathing hard.
“Everything okay, pet?” Cassie asked. She was closer now, leaning against the archway. Her kimono had fallen open slightly.
Sasha nodded, the mask moving stiffly. A lie. Nothing was okay. The heat was turning into a throb, a pulse between her legs that matched her heartbeat. She felt wet, obvious, desperate.
“You look a little flustered,” Cassie said, her voice light. “Maybe you need to… work off that breakfast. To the bedroom. Crawl.”
The command sliced through the fog. Sasha turned, her movements clumsier now, driven by a need she couldn’t name. The journey to the bedroom felt endless, each movement rubbing her thighs together, sending jolts of frustrating pleasure through her. Cassie followed, her bare feet whispering on the floor.
The bedroom was a cave of silk and light. “Up on the bed. On your back.”
Sasha struggled onto the high mattress, her body feeling unwieldy, heavy with need. Cassie produced two lengths of soft, wide silk. She took Sasha’s wrists, her touch searing, and tied them securely to the intricate scrollwork of the headboard. The position arched Sasha’s back, exposed her fully.
“There,” Cassie sighed, as if admiring a finished painting. She traced a finger down Sasha’s sternum, over the taut fabric of her sports bra, down the quivering plane of her stomach to the waistband of her shorts. “That new supplement really gets the blood flowing, doesn’t it?”
Understanding crashed through the arousal. The food. Sasha made a strained noise behind the mask.
“Shhh,” Cassie soothed, hooking her fingers into the shorts and underwear and peeling them down Sasha’s thighs, past her knees, off. The cool air was a shock against her heated skin. Cassie knelt between her legs. “Let’s see what all that good nutrition is doing.”
She didn’t touch her, not at first. She just looked, her vacant expression now focused, voracious. “So greedy,” she whispered finally, her voice low and warm. “Look at that. All slick and open for me. Just a hungry, hungry hole, isn’t it?”
The crude words, delivered in that sweet, conversational tone, made Sasha jerk against the silken bonds. A moan escaped the mouth hole, ragged and broken.
Cassie smiled. She reached to the nightstand, and the faint buzz of a vibrator clicked on. She didn’t use it yet. She just held it near, the sound vibrating in the quiet room. “You can come when I say. Not before. You’re my good, strong puppy, and you’ll wait for your permission.”
She lowered the vibrator, touching it not to Sasha’s clit, but to the inside of her thigh. The buzzing tease was maddening. She traced agonizingly slow circles, moving closer, then retreating. She narrated it all in a whisper. “So desperate. You’d twitch your hips if you weren’t trying so hard to be still. Isn’t it funny? All those muscles, all that strength… and I own this little, throbbing piece of you completely.”
She finally let the vibrator make contact. A direct, perfect press against Sasha’s clit.
Sasha cried out, her back bowing off the bed, the headboard creaking. The orgasm ripped through her immediately, a white-hot detonation she was powerless to stop. It shook her, wave after wave, wringing a choked sob from her lungs.
Cassie watched, entranced, until the last tremor subsided. Then she clicked the vibrator off. “I said,” she murmured, “when I say.”
She untied the silks. Sasha’s arms fell limp, boneless. Cassie grabbed her by the collar and dragged her off the bed. Sasha’s legs wouldn’t work. She half-crawled, was half-pulled, across the floor, through the doorway, into the massive bathroom of veined marble.
Cassie guided her into the walk-in shower, turning on the water. It was lukewarm, a gentle rain. Sasha slumped against the tile, the mask dripping, her body humming with spent sensitivity.
Cassie retrieved a bottle of jasmine-scented oil. She poured a pool into her palms. “Turn over. On your knees. Forehead on the floor.”
Sasha complied, the position profoundly submissive, her ass in the air. Cassie’s oil-slicked hands began to knead the powerful muscles of her glutes, her thighs. It was a deep, clinical massage, working out the knots from training. Then her touch changed. Softer. Slower. A flat palm pressed firmly against Sasha’s lower abdomen.
“All that tension,” Cassie mused, her fingers drifting lower, tracing the curve of Sasha’s ass. “All that need. You have to learn to unload it completely. To be empty for me.” Her voice was a hypnotic drip. “Next time, you’ll wait. You’ll learn. Because this is your function now. To be fed, and shaped, and used. To produce that beautiful, desperate want. And then to give it all to me.”
The touch was both intimate and impersonal. The water rained down. Sasha, forehead pressed to the wet shower floor, encased in pink latex, understood there was no bottom to this. Only a deepening. The thought should have terrified her. Instead, a strange, shameful peace seeped into her exhausted limbs. She had never been so full, or so utterly drained. She had never belonged to anything so completely.
Cassie’s hands never stopped moving. “Good puppy,” she whispered, as the steam rose around them. “Such a good, empty puppy.”