Normally, I can glare at any man and make him shake. Just the force of my stare should be enough to make him retreat back. It isn't.
"My name is Michael, and I'm going to be taking care of you, Katrina. In case you don't remember me, I'm the man who gave you that wonderful orgasm earlier."
"You touched me," I breathe, my eyes narrow. For a second, I actually itch to bear my canines, like I should bite this man.
"Yes, I did. And you enjoyed it." It seems impossible, but he slides his hand between the bars of the cage, and he tweaks the tip of my nose, pinching it for just a moment. By the time I react, he has already pulled his arm back out. "Katrina, I am a clinical psychologist. It's my job to study certain kinds of behaviors and how to correct them. So before we begin, you need to understand something."
"What?" I demand.
Normally, I'm so good at reading social situations. I can normally glance at a person and discern all of their strengths and weaknesses. I can figure out who's important and who is irrelevant. But with this guy, I don't get any kind of read.
He's confident. That much is obvious. But that doesn't really give me anything helpful. How can I strike back at him?
"I've read your file, Katrina. I know you very well at this point. So you can try to lie to me, you can try to manipulate me just as you have with so many other people, but it's not going to work. You're going to be able to influence me."
"I'll destroy you," I spit back at him. If I'm hoping the fierceness of my tone will be enough to make him back off, I'm disappointed.
"No. What you will do is obey me. You see, an important part of your training will involve teaching you to be a modest young woman. You need to learn to be obedient and sweet. You need to learn to put others before yourself."
"What is this, an intervention?" I ask, my voice dripping with disdain.
"No. This is training."
Then he does something I don't anticipate. While I'm in this cage, he has the advantage. While I'm trapped behind these bars, he can say anything, and my threats are pretty meaningless. But then he takes the latch on the front gate, and he pulls up. The gate swings outward.
"Come on, Katrina. Show me you can be a good girl. Out, girl."
He's addressing me like I'm some kind of animal, a trained pet. I don't like it. Even so, I'm not going to stubbornly stay in the cage. How silly would that be?
I crawl forward until I feel the artificial turf beneath my palms and knees. Just then, I attempt to stand. I put my legs beneath me, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet.
"Sit, girl," he commands.
Just then, I smirk, thinking that this man must be insane. What was his name again? Michael. Obviously, he thinks I'm going to listen to him.
But once those words hit the air, something bizarre happens. My muscles go slack, and I drop down onto my stomach. Inhaling and exhaling, I'm blushing brightly, embarrassed. What just happened? Why did I fall down like that?
"While you were asleep, I had one of my associates place an implant somewhere in your body. When you misbehave, I can tell you to sit, and guess what happens?"
"You operated on me!" Pushing myself back up onto my hands and knees, I lift my chin. He’s still crouched down, his eyes locked on mine. My expression might be blazing with incandescent fury, but he just looks back at me as though I'm some small, cute, cuddly animal.
"That's right. And if you're not careful, that won't be the only surgery.”
My knuckles tighten along with the rest of my body because I want to appear bored. Oh, it would feel so good to leap at him, to throw a punch. I can already imagine how it would feel to have my knuckles bash into his jaw.
Instead, I try a different approach. "Michael, you said you are a clinical psychologist?"
"That's right."
"Then I'm sure there are a lot of theoretical questions you're interested in? You know, I'm a very wealthy woman. I could offer you the funding you need. I could use my—”
“No, Katrina, you can't." He sounds so smug, like he knows something I don't. But then he satisfies my curiosity. "I'm sorry, but since you disappeared, your sister, Janet, has assumed control of the family fortune. As of right now, you have nothing."
"That's not possible!" Stammering, I try to think of some reason, some logic that will back me up. "I was only unconscious for—”
“Two weeks,” he says. "That's more than enough time to make all the legal arrangements."
"But, but—” Right now, I probably sound like some upset child scrambling for an explanation, some way to avoid a punishment.
"So this is how it's going to go. You're going to do as I say. If you can't, you're going to be punished. Understand now, Katrina, but I'm not one of your friends. I'm not some guy trying to get into your pants at a party. You can't you lie to me. If you try, you'll be punished. It's as simple as that."
Slowly, I turn my head around, searching for an exit. When I spot it, I don't hesitate.
Even though I'm naked and even though he's already shown me what he can do, I jump onto my feet. I'm quick, leaping forward. I run hard, slashing my hands through the air. My feet kick against the artificial turf, and I cut the distance between me and the door in half in just a few seconds.
"Sit, girl!"
I try to block out the sound. I try not to hear Michael's voice, but it doesn't matter. Whatever implant has been placed inside of my body picks up on the sound well enough. My muscles abandoned me again, only this time I'm running full bore.
Stumbling, I hit my knees first, then my elbows. I roll over, and I'm panting, frustrated. My skin is hot, those scratches hurt, and I'm panting.
The next thing I know, Michael is on top of me. He literally straddles me. He grabs my wrists, pinning me down on my back. "Bad, bad girl. I don't think you really understand what it means to be helpless. I don't think you comprehend what it means to be powerless."
As much as I hate to admit it to myself, some part of me enjoys the weight of his body on top of me like this. Meekly, I kick out with my legs, but there is no way for me to get him off of me. I'm stuck.
"What kind of punishment should I give you?" His eyes are locked onto mine.
"You can't punish me!"
"Actually, I can," he tells me. "Let me demonstrate." Then he slides off of me, and he rolls me onto my stomach. It happens also fast.
His hand smacks down against my buttocks.
"Ow!" That sound is immediately ejected from my throat. I can't help myself. Even though I am going to maintain my dignity, I didn't think he would actually spank me! What is he think I am?
"Bad, bad girl," he says. He grabs my arms, holding them behind my back, holding them down. He's only using one hand, but that's all he needs. It feels like is incredibly strong, though I understand the true mechanics of how this works.
He's not especially strong; I'm especially weak.
"I'm going to spank you. And when I'm done, you're going to bark for me."
I open my mouth, unable to comprehend what he's really saying. Did I hear right? He wants me to bark for him? No, that can't be right. That's just not possible. No matter what this man intends for me, it has to come down to money. He doesn't really want me to bark. That would be too much!
His hand crashes down against my skin, striking so hard. I can already feel the heat gather along the curves of my ass. There are so many guys out in the city would love the chance to spank me. Of course, I've never given anyone the opportunity. When it comes to my relationships with guys, I'm the one who's in control. They should be begging me for every little favor, every little glance I allow them.
Except here, Michael swats my behind. He makes it sting. He makes every strike reverberate through my flesh. My pain receptors light up, and my eyes moisten, yet I keep those tears imprisoned. There is no way I'm going to cry in front of him. I'm better than that!
"Are you ready to start barking for me? Are you ready to be a little bitch for me?"
No, I'm not going to br
eak. No, I'm not going to yield.
His hand smacks down against my backside. Heart pounding, I attempt to wiggle away. I'm squirming like a bug beneath him. And yet, because he's holding my hands behind me, there's nowhere for me to go.
"Come on, Katrina. I know you're a smart girl. You always got good grades in school. It's a shame you wasted all that potential on partying and screwing around with guys." He clicks his tongue, and shakes his head, almost like he's genuinely disappointed in me.
"You can't, you can't do this!" I finally snap back at him.
He answers by spanking me some more, slamming his palm down into the firm curves of my buttocks.
"Why are you holding out? Have you asked yourself that question, Katrina?”
The spanking stops. Gasping, I fill my lungs. The pain seems to flutter along my skin. But then, I yelp out, squealing as he brushes his fingertips over my ass. He dashes his digits along my skin, and I tense up instantly.
"Bark for me."
"Screw you!"
"We'll get to that," he promises.
My eyes widen with shock. He can't be serious. He can't really mean that, can he? But then his hand slides down back to my ass. He is spanking me harder and faster, making me whimper. My eyes continue to water, misting over. I can't see straight.
"Arf! Arf-arf!”
Then it stops.
Where did the sounds come from? That couldn't have been me, could it? I wouldn't actually bark for him. Would I?
"Good girl. Very good girl. Now an important part of your training will be rewarding you. That's why you're going to get an orgasm now."
He let go of my hands, so I immediately rolled over. I'm about to try to flee once again. There's just one problem. He grabs my hair, keeping me from getting away. When he pulls on my scalp, I hiss as this new sting shoots through my scalp.
"What are you going to do?" I demanded, only then he starts touching me. His hand flies down to that spot between my legs. He fingered me while I was mostly unconscious. He won't be able to do that again.
I slap my hands at his wrist, hoping to make him stop. He doesn't.
His fingers probe me. They stroke me, penetrating me. At first, he barely caresses my outer lips. But just a few seconds later, he plunges downward, fingering me with two digits. He runs his touch along my clitoris.
Damn it. Why is my body responding? Why am I panting? Why am I moaning?
This man understands my body. He knows how to work me over. Before I know it, I'm twitching, and then I'm coming! The climax races through me, an orgasm that I can't deny.
"Bark for me again," he commands.
I look up at him, questioning this man and his supposed authority. I'm not used to being at anyone's mercy. Even in school, I would know that I had more money than my teachers. That always leveled the playing field. Sure, they could give me grades or nominate me for awards, but I was the one who held the real power.
And over everyone in every classroom too.
Except here, Michael keeps his eyes on me. He is very calm, and I know that I'm not going to be able to intimidate him. That thought alone is enough to infuriate me.
"Arf,” I say, bowing my head down. My hair frames my face, curtaining my eyes. At least he can't see me. Even so, I'm fairly certain that he knows just how humiliating this is for someone like me.
"You know, I can also open doors," I tell him a few seconds later. A bribe may not work, but power can mean more than just money. Connections are just as vital.
"Can you now?" Michael asks, but there's something mocking in his voice.
"Yes!"
"Show me."
"What?"
"Show me. You tell me you can open doors. Come on. Let's see what you can do." He gets up, and he walks right towards the exit. When I don't move, Michael snaps his fingers, and he motions for me to follow.
Head bowed, I don't make another attempt at walking. Since I already know what he would do, I start crawling. It's degrading. It's also very slow. As I make my way over the artificial turf, those fake blades of grass rub against the scratches on my knees. I try to pretend that none of this is a big deal. I keep my head held high, and I remember one of the most important facets of dealing with people.
Always be confident.
Whether I'm dealing with lawyers or drunk girls at a club, I understand that people always respond to confidence. I need to appear to be strong. I need to come off as someone who isn't nervous or frightened.
Up ahead, Michael waits politely, his hands held behind his back. I look up at him again, and I can't help it. I feel another trickle of attraction at the back of my brain for this man. I should hate him with every fiber of my being, but I can't, not entirely.
"Here's the door. Show me you can open it."
"That's not what I meant."
"It's what I meant," he tells me, like that matters so much more.
The door looks simple enough. There is the handle, and I keep thinking that there must be some kind of trick. What’s he playing at?
"This is an important lesson." That's all he says. Standing back, he waits, his hands still held behind his back. He really does look a lot like a teacher waiting for a nervous student to begin her presentation.
I roll my eyes, thinking this is stupid. Then I get up on my haunches, and I press my palms against the door’s push bar. The second my palms come into contact with the cold metal, a shock of electricity jumps through me.
I snap back, blinking back an onrush of tears. No, I'm still resolved. I'm not going to cry in front of him.
"What the hell was that?" I snap.
"Another precaution," he tells me, patting me on the head. I glare up at him, but Michael hardly seems to notice. "This is going to be hard for you to understand, but you're not a person anymore."
"Then what am I?"
"Let me show you," answers Michael. He pushes the door open, and it's silly, but a trickle of jealousy runs through my body. I start crawling again. Out here, the artificial turf is replaced by industrial carpeting. Along the walls, there are generic pieces of art, framed watercolors.
He starts walking ahead of me, and it's all I can do to keep up. Occasionally, I glance at the other doors to the left and right, wondering what's behind them. If this was a regular office, they would probably be break rooms or storage. Considering what I've already seen, there's no way for me to be sure.
Considerately, Michael opens another door for me. "Come on," he says, waving me forward.
Tentative and almost timid, I approach the threshold, and I intend to hesitate, but his hand comes down, striking my naked, vulnerable ass. The jolt of pain stings, so I scamper forward. I find myself in a storage room, but there aren't any reams of paper or crates of toner here.
Instead, I look forward, and I find dozens of collars hanging from the wall. Blinking, I don't understand. When I turn to the other wall, I see a bunch of leashes. The third wall is made up of cabinets. I have no idea what those contain.
"Welcome," he says. "I'm going to be a very generous trainer, and I'm going to let you pick out your equipment."
"Equipment? What the hell is this?"
"You haven't figured it out yet?"
"No. What's going on? Tell me! Just give me a straight answer!"
"No. I want you to figure it out for yourself. But don't worry. We’re going to start with the collar. Which one would you like me to put on you?"
"You have to be crazy. There's no way I’m going to wear a collar! I'm not a—” I halt midsentence. Somehow, I can't force myself to finish.
"I can pick for you," he says, grabbing a pink, nylon collar from one of the hooks. He crouches in front of me, holding it up. There are little ice cream cones along the length of the material. There is also a pink clasp. For a moment, I want to exhale with relief. At least this thing can't lock onto me. That's something, right?
"Say it."
"I'm not a dog!" I growl back at him. Again, I work hard to put forward that special confidenc
e which normally gets me through pretty much every situation. But here, Michael isn't impressed.
"Head back."
Locking my teeth together, I glance at the doorway again. He smiles at me. "Remember, I can always spank you, Katrina."
Swallowing, I don't want to endure that particular indignity again, so I lift my head, raising my chin. He pulls the collar around my neck, and I hear it snap into place. It's tight, and when I swallow again, I can feel the confines of that material looped around my throat.
It's going to be impossible to forget. Then again, I remind myself I can just take it off whenever I want.
"And let's not forget your leash," he says, standing. "Do you want something soft or something hard like chains?"
"You can't do this to me! I'm a person! I'm not a dog!"
Michael doesn't bother answering. Again, I glance over at the door, but I remember what happened last time I tried to use one. By the time I look back to Michael, he's coming at me. He attaches the leash to my collar, and then he tugs on it. The pressure increases on my throat, so I start following him.
"One more stop," he says. We travel down the hallway again to another room. This one is mostly empty except for the mirrors on three of the walls. He stands there beside me, he grabs my hair, and he forces me to look forward.
"What do you see?"
More than anything, I want to close my eyes, but he has his other hand resting on my rump. It's far too easy to remember the spankings I've already endured, so I just stare forward, doing my best not to see. I don't want to remember this image or my reflection, though I already know it's getting burned right into my brain.
No matter how many parties I go to, no matter how many people I fire, and no matter how many hearts I break, I'm always going to remember being naked, on all fours, collared and leashed like a dog.
"I see my reflection," I tell him, doing my best to make it sound easy. It isn't.
"And what do you look like?" he asks, leaving me alone.
Filling my lungs again, I'll hold my breath, wishing I could be somewhere else, anywhere else.
"I look like a girl who's been kidnapped!"
Because I can't help myself, I twist about, and I make a rush for the door. Maybe if I slammed it open fast enough, the electricity wouldn't matter. Except there's another problem. Michael doesn't release my leash. Holding me tight, he yanks hard, and I feel it in my collar. Yelping again, I collapse onto my side.
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