Chapter 9: Bulk Deuce
The food kept coming. Thick bone broth with shredded short rib. Sweet potato mash swimming in grass-fed butter. Avocados by the half, sprinkled with flaky salt. Cassie watched, elbows on the black marble island, chin in her hands, as Sasha ate from the steel bowl on the floor. She’d made the portions bigger. Much bigger.
“You need the fuel, puppy,” she’d say, her voice a singsong. “All that muscle doesn’t maintain itself.”
Sasha ate until her stomach felt taut and heavy, a dense, warm weight inside her. The mask made it awkward, but she’d learned to maneuver the spoon, to lick the bowl clean. The hunger was different now—not just in her gut, but a dull, obedient compulsion. She ate because it was given. Because it was a command.
Two days of this. Three massive meals a day. On the afternoon of the third day, the sensation changed. The comfortable fullness curdled into a deep, cramping pressure. A gurgling, insistent tide moving through her. She shifted on her knees after finishing lunch, a low whine escaping her.
Cassie looked up from her phone, a slow smile spreading. “Oh. Is it time?”
Sasha didn’t understand. Not until Cassie unhooked the long, thin leash from its peg by the fridge. She clipped it to the ring on Sasha’s collar, the click final in the quiet kitchen.
“Come on,” Cassie said, giving a gentle tug. “Up. We’re going for a walk.”
Sasha rose, her body feeling alien, the pressure in her abdomen a sharp, demanding focus. Cassie didn’t lead her to the living room or the terrace. She led her down the hall, past the bedroom, to a door Sasha had never seen opened. It was a bathroom, but unlike the opulent master suite. This one was smaller, clinical. White subway tile, a pristine toilet, a single window with frosted glass.
Cassie guided her inside. The leash went slack. “You know what this is for,” Cassie said, her tone conversational, instructive. “Your body’s been processing all that beautiful, rich food. Making waste. It needs to come out.”
Sasha stood rigid, the heat of humiliation flooding her neck and face. This was a line. A private, crumbling wall.
“Go on,” Cassie urged, nodding toward the toilet. “I’ll wait.”
Sasha shook her head, a tiny, desperate movement behind the mask.
Cassie’s expression didn’t harden; it softened with faux sympathy. “Puppy, don’t be silly. It’s a natural function. I feed you. I take care of you. This is part of it. Or do you want to be uncomfortable?” She took a step closer. “Do you want to cramp and hurt in your pretty kennel all afternoon?”
The pressure twisted, a vicious spike. Sasha’s breath hitched.
“I own all of you,” Cassie reminded her, voice dropping to a whisper. “The muscles you’re so proud of. The orgasms I pull from you. The hunger. And what the hunger leaves behind. It’s all mine. Now. Do what your body needs to do.”
The words carved through the last of her resistance. They reframed the act, stripped it of its privacy and made it just another transaction. Another service rendered to the owner. Slowly, muscles trembling with more than just strain, Sasha moved to the toilet. She fumbled with the simple cotton shorts she wore, pulling them down.
Cassie didn’t look away. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching with that vacant, hungry curiosity. The leash coiled on the tile floor between them.
It was an agony of exposure. The sound, the smell, the sheer vulnerability of it. Sasha kept her head bowed, tears of shame mixing with the condensation inside the mask. She felt emptied in a new, devastating way.
When she was done, she just sat there, broken.
Cassie moved then. She didn’t recoil. She stepped forward, reached around her, and flushed. The sound was obscenely loud. Then she produced a packet of wet wipes from a cabinet. “Here,” she said, handing her one.
The clinical care was worse than cruelty. Sasha cleaned herself mechanically.
“Good girl,” Cassie said, taking the used wipe and tossing it into the bowl before flushing again. She hooked a finger under Sasha’s chin, forcing her to look up. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Now you’re clean. Inside and out. Light.”
Cassie pulled the shorts back up over Sasha’s hips, her touch firm, proprietary. She picked up the leash. “We’ll do this after every big meal now. A walk to deuce. It’s part of your routine. Part of my care.”
She led Sasha, pliant and hollow, back to the main living area. The afternoon sun streamed in, highlighting the dust motes in the air. Sir Licksalot stretched on the back of the sofa.
Cassie unclipped the leash by his favorite spot. She ran her hand over Sasha’s sweat-damp hair. “You’re so much simpler now, aren’t you?” she mused, not really expecting an answer. “Fed. Walked. Emptied. No thoughts. Just need and obedience. It’s a beautiful thing.”
Sasha looked out at the glittering city skyline, a view of impossible freedom. The last frontier of her autonomy had just been mapped, conquered, and annexed. The cage, she understood finally, wasn’t the penthouse. It was the exacting, merciless rhythm of Cassie’s care. The food coming in. The waste going out. All of it monitored. All of it owned.
She sank to her knees, not because she was told to, but because her legs would no longer hold her. The emptiness inside her was perfect, and total.