Chapter 2: The Gym Exhibition
The gym’s fluorescent lights hummed like insects trapped in the ceiling. Enn’s muscles trembled, a fine tremor running through his quads and glutes as he held the bottom of a squat, the barbell a crushing weight across his shoulders. Sweat soaked through the torn sides of his tank top, the fabric clinging to the dense ridges of his abdomen.
“Ten more seconds,” Catherine’s voice came from behind him, cool and appraising. He could smell her perfume—jasmine and ice—cutting through the gym’s fog of effort.
He held. His tail, sweaty and matted, was rigid with strain, parallel to the floor. His ears were pinned flat against his skull. Every second stretched, a silent agony. He focused on the reflection in the mirror ahead: Catherine, draped elegantly over a weight bench, her tablet in hand. She wasn’t even looking at him. She was scrolling. The disconnect between his total physical commitment and her casual distraction sent a sharp pang through his chest, right beside the burn in his legs.
“And… release.”
He racked the bar with a metallic clang that echoed too loudly, his breath coming in ragged gulps. He turned, instinctively dropping to his knees on the damp mat, head bowed. The cool air conditioning hit his sweat-slicked skin, raising goosebumps.
“You’re dripping on the floor, puppy.” She didn’t look up from her tablet.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“Clean it up.”
He crawled to the nearby utility closet, fetched a towel, and began wiping the mat. His body ached wonderfully, every muscle singing a hymn of exhaustion forged by her will. He could feel the stares from a man on the cable machine—a mix of envy at his physique and confusion at his behavior. Enn ignored them. Their opinions were whispers; Catherine’s voice was the only storm.
She stood finally, smoothing her silk blouse. “We’re done here. Shower. You stink of effort.” She said it like ‘effort’ was a vulgar thing.
The locker room was empty, tiled in sterile white. She followed him in, the click of her heels definitive. She leaned against a sink, watching as he turned the shower on. Steam began to billow.
“Leave the cage on,” she instructed lightly.
He froze, one hand on his waistband. The small, polished steel cage felt heavier suddenly, a constant, intimate pressure. “Yes, ma’am.”
He stepped under the hot spray, the water sluicing through his fur, flattening his ears. He kept his back to her, but he could feel her gaze like a physical touch. She approached, the heels silent on the wet tiles now. Her hand reached past the curtain, and he flinched, expecting a correction. Instead, her fingers ran through the fur of his tail, working the water into the dense undercoat.
“You performed adequately today,” she said, her voice softened by the steam. “Your form on the deadlifts was acceptable.”
A warmth that had nothing to do with the water spread through him. His tail, in her grip, gave a feeble, happy thump against the shower wall. Adequate. Acceptable. From her, they were sonnets.
“Thank you, Catherine.”
She gave his tail a sharp, playful tug before releasing it. “Don’t get sentimental. Dry off. We have an appointment.”
The car ride was silent. Enn sat in the passenger seat, dressed in the simple grey sweatpants and hoodie she’d laid out for him—the sweatpants were intact, a small mercy. The city lights streaked past the window, painting his anxious face in neon blues and reds. His tail was curled tightly in his lap, a fluffy knot of anticipation. The memory of her whisper in the gym—you will service the glory hole tonight—replayed in his head on a loop, a command that stirred a confusing brew of dread and electric submission.
They pulled up not to the upscale club district, but to a non-descript, slightly run-down adult bookstore on the fringe of the warehouse district. A flickering neon sign buzzed overhead.
“Charming, isn’t it?” Catherine said, killing the engine. She turned to him, her green eyes catching the sickly light. “This is a practical lesson. It’s about obedience divorced from context. About pleasing an abstract concept—me—through a completely anonymous, and frankly, degrading act.” She reached over and tapped his collar. The tiny camera lens glinted. “I’ll be watching. Every sound. Every reaction.”
His throat was very dry. He nodded.
“Words, Enn.”
“I understand. I’ll make you proud.”
She smiled, a sharp, beautiful thing. “I know you will.”
The inside was a cave of dim light and the smell of stale popcorn and industrial cleaner. The clerk, an older man with bored eyes, didn’t glance up from his magazine. Catherine led Enn past rows of DVDs to a back hallway lined with narrow, laminated wooden doors. She stopped at the last one.
“In you go,” she said, her voice businesslike. She handed him a small bottle of lubricant. “I’ll be right outside. Remember who you belong to.”
He entered. The booth was claustrophobic, barely wider than his shoulders. A wooden bench, a dim bulb overhead, and on the wall, a literal hole. It was smaller than he’d imagined, framed by scratched brass. On a hook hung a disposable towel. The reality of it was suddenly, overwhelmingly visceral. His heart hammered against his ribs. His ears swiveled, catching the muffled thump of music from the store’s front, Catherine’s faint breathing just beyond the door.
He heard a corresponding door latch click shut on the other side of the wall. A shadow shifted, obscuring the light from the other booth.
Enn’s hands shook. He fumbled with his sweatpants, the simple tie knot suddenly impossibly complex. He took a steadying breath, the air tasting of dust and cheap cleaner. For her. All for her. The thought was an anchor. He completed the task, positioned himself on the bench, the wood cold against his thighs.
He waited. Time dissolved. His heightened senses were overloaded with meaningless data: a drip from a pipe, the rustle of fabric next door, the rapid, nervous beat of his own pulse. His tail was tucked tightly beneath him, a damp, anxious weight.
Then, a presence. A shape filled the hole on the other side.
No words were exchanged. None were expected. This was the absolute anonymity she wanted. He closed his eyes, but that only intensified the other senses. The smell of a stranger’s cologne, cheap and overpowering. The sound of rough, impatient breath.
He thought of Catherine. Of her hand in his fur at the shower. Of her saying acceptable. He focused on the cool metal of his collar against his throat, the camera a tiny, unblinking eye. This wasn’t for the anonymous man. This was a performance for her. A sacrament of submission.
He leaned forward.
Afterwards, he felt hollowed out and trembling. He cleaned up mechanically with the rough towel, his movements stiff. The door on the other side banged shut. Silence returned.
He didn’t know how long he sat there before his own door opened. Catherine stood in the hallway light, elegant and out of place. She looked him over, his pale face, his lowered ears, the way his tail dragged behind him like a broken thing.
She stepped into the booth, ignoring the residue of the space, and cupped his face. Her thumbs wiped at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d teared up.
“Come,” she said, and her voice wasn’t gentle, but it held a note of profound possession. “You did perfectly.”
Back in the car, she didn’t speak. She drove for ten minutes before pulling into the parking garage of their high-rise. In the echoing concrete silence, she turned to him.
“Open your mouth.”
He did, without hesitation. She placed a single, square piece of dark chocolate on his tongue. The bitterness and rich sweetness exploded, a shocking contrast to the chemical taste still lingering in his mouth.
“A reward,” she stated. “For unquestioning obedience.” She traced the line of his jaw with a manicured nail. “The man in the booth was a paid actor. I selected him. I briefed him. He was working for me.” She watched the understanding dawn in his wide, hybrid eyes—the realization that even in that abject anonymity, she had been in absolute control. “There is no part of you, and no experience you have, that is not mine. Do you see?”
The chocolate melted on his tongue. The hollow feeling filled with something else, something terrifying and absolute. His tail, slowly, began to thump a soft rhythm against the leather seat.
He saw.