Human Animals

by Kimmy Estrada

  "Come back." He sounds patient, like a man training a reticent canine.

  Crawling forward again, I try not to think about how much power this man has.

  "You know, if you fight me, you only make it more difficult for yourself. You're a smart girl. You should be able to understand this."

  I can. But I can't accept it!

  "What you see?" Michael asks, pinching my chin and forcing me to look straight ahead. Then he turns my head to the left, then the right. I see my body from virtually every angle. Down on my hands and knees, I'm collared and leashed. More importantly, I'm naked, just like an animal.

  "I see my reflection."

  "And what do you look like?" Michael repeats the same question as before.

  "I look like a dog. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

  "Actually, it is," he whispers into my ear. "And that's why you get another orgasm."

  "No!"

  But it's too late. He rolls me onto my back, and he starts fingering me again. As hard as I try to push him off of me, I can't. He strokes me, he fondles me. He moves his hands along my pubis, and then his touch lights along my opening. I try to snap my knees together, but everything I do fails.

  He so much stronger than me! Whatever implant has been placed inside of my body makes me as weak as a puppy…

  He rubs me until I'm getting closer to orgasm. My pussy is wet, my skin is hot, and my body is still sensitive after the last couple of times he touched me. No, no, no, I silently plead with myself. I'm supposed to be better than this. I'm used to being in control when I'm dealing with men. But Michael has no compunction about using me.

  The seconds tick by, my body responds, and then I’m pushed over the edge. Pleasure races through me, my lower lip trembles, and I squeal with unadulterated delight.

  "We’ll go for a walk. I think that'll help you."

  "What are you going to do to me?" I ask as we make it back into the large, open chamber with the fake grass. Up ahead, I spot the cage where I first woke up.

  "What now? Are you going to ask for a ransom?"

  "You aren't a kidnapping victim. You're a pet now."

  "No!" Even though I sound like a petulant child, I don't care. If I could stand up right now, I know that I would be stamping my feet and jumping up and down.

  His hand flies back down to the curves of my ass, striking hard. The bite of that spanking silences me. My eyes water some more, but I blink back the itch to start crying. Taking a breath, I remember myself.

  "You’re a dog now," he says. "You're a pet. You're my plaything. I'm going to take good care of you, but I'm also going to expect nothing less than complete obedience."

  Opening my mouth for a second, I'm ready to tell him that he'll never get it. I'll never be some little doggie girl for him. And then he pulls on my leash, and I start crawling again. For some reason, I can't help myself.

  If you asked me yesterday how I would resist a kidnapping, I would have said something about with absolute defiance. At every step, I would resist. I would make life miserable for my captors until they decided to let me go. And yet, here I am, crawling around. He takes me toward the windows. He lets me look outside.

  "Just think, they are all those people out there. You had the opportunity to use your wealth to help them. Instead, what did you do?"

  I don't respond.

  Michael yanks on my leash again, forcing me to answer. "I went to parties. I had fun." I refuse to sound guilty about the decisions I made.

  "When you have a lot of wealth, that means you have a responsibility to the rest of society. You see, you might think you're better than everyone else, but you're not. You're just a spoiled girl. At least, you were. Now you're going to be an obedient dog."

  "I'm not a dog,” I shoot back at him, only to realize that I'm whispering. Damn it. He actually knows how to make me nervous. He can keep me quiet.

  "Let's go for a walk," he tells me. I move after him, crawling on my hands and knees. I keep my head down, and I try not to think about the symbol of subjugation around my neck. Every once in a while, the leash brushes along my shoulder blades or down my spine. When that happens, I shiver with humiliation.

  Occasionally, I think of Janet. What would she say about this?

  She would be horrified.

  "You know, my sister is out there looking for me. Now that I'm out of the picture, she controls the fortune, which means she has incredible resources. I'm sure she has agents and employees scouring the entire city for me. And when they find me…”

  "Sit, girl," he says, stopping.

  My limbs go slack again, and I collapse against the fake grass. The weakness only lasts for a few seconds, so I get back up on my haunches. I'm naked, but I really didn't care now.

  "This is a very private location. I promise you, no one is coming to help you."

  Tightening my lips together, I need to believe that he is wrong, that Janet will find me. Choosing to remain quiet, I look down at the artificial grass.

  "Let’s go for a walk. We can just stroll around for a few minutes. I'm sure that will help you calm down."

  "I am calm," I tell him.

  Michael doesn't bother to respond. He simply starts moving, tugging on my leash. He moves me over to the large windows, and I look out to the city. There are so many tall buildings, so many people. Pedestrians down on the street look more like insects.

  Considering how I've been demoted, I should probably feel like I should be nicer to them in the future. After all, I'm learning what it feels like not to have any power. Instead, I look down at them, and I resent the fact that none of them have found me. No one has burst in here to rescue me.

  Michael turns to the right, following the wall. I'm still crawling along on my hands and knees.

  "There's something you should probably know about. If you continue to be defiant, we will have to institute certain changes to your physiology."

  "What does that mean?" I ask even though I have a pretty good idea.

  "Surgery," he says. "There are some permanent modifications we can make to your body."

  "Like what?"

  Michael doesn't stop; he doesn't even glance down at me. Instead, he continues to walk, forcing me to scamper after him.

  I like to think that I'm a very fit young woman. After all, I go to the gym several times every week, but I'm not used to these kinds of movements. Before long, heat flows over my skin, and I'm breathing heavily. Even so, I don't ask him again. Part of me shivers every time I think about what they might do to me.

  But who are they? Who is doing this? Considering the size of this building, it must be someone with considerable resources. Plus my driver had to be bribed. Someone needed to install sedatives in the limo. This wouldn't be an amateur.

  As I crawl along, I lose focus on my vision. Instead, I compile a mental list of all of my competitors. I think about some of the girls I've insulted over the years, some of the guys whose hearts I’ve broken.

  No, it's probably not a guy who's doing this to me. Michael is a psychologist, an academic. He doesn't have any stake in this outside of the intellectual. That's what makes this so frustrating. I can't bribe him because he wants to see how the experiment will proceed. That's what really matters to him!

  When we return to the windows, he stops me. He doesn't say anything. Instead, he simply halts. Because I zoned out, I didn't realize this until I feel the tug around my neck once again. I stop, I turn around.

  "You're a very good girl. It's nice taking you for walks. Let's do that a couple more times."

  We circle that large chamber one, two, three, four more times. By the time he allows me to stop, I simply fall down on my side. Technically, that wasn't an aerobic exercise. I didn't have to run or jump, but I'm tired.

  "Are you hungry?"

  His question triggers something within me. My stomach starts to rumble. I don't like the idea of being dependent on him, and I'm sure I'm not going to like whatever he offers me. Despite this, I get back up
onto my hands and knees. "Yes. I'm hungry." I don't sound happy about it.

  "Okay." He starts walking, back toward my cage. Those black iron bars sit there, just waiting for me. As we get closer, I know one thing for certain. Don't want to go back in there. I don't want to end up in a dog kennel. I'm not stupid dog! I'm not some canine! I'm an heiress, I'm rich, and I'm supposed to be better than this.

  But then we get back to the cage, and he opens the gate. "If you want to eat, you're going to be a good girl."

  Because my stomach rumbles again, I don't have any choice. I crawl forward, and I flinch when he drops the gate back down. It lands hard with a clang. He secures the latch, and then he walks away.

  At first, I assume Michael is going to come back within a few minutes. But then it starts to get dark out. I'm still hungry, and I don't know what to do. Did he just leave? Did he forget about me?

  On a day-to-day basis, I can be a very brave young woman. I can deal with pretty much anyone. Except there's nothing in my past to prepare me for this. Frustrated, I grab onto the cage. I shake it, doing my best to twist the bars. The metal doesn't yield. It doesn't bend even a little bit.

  "Naughty girl. Since you are trying to break your cage, I guess I can't let you have the use of your hands anymore." It's Michael's voice. He's coming back!

  A surge of excitement runs through me. Not only am I hungry, but I am also bored without him here. He saunters forward, and he's carrying a bag along with a bowl. He sets the bowl down just in front of my cage. I lick my lips when I see the water right there. Of course, since I'm locked away, there's nothing I can do about it.

  Michael crouches in front of me. "I have some food for you. But I need to know that you're going to be a good girl. Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

  The joy of seeing him again, knowing that I'm actually going to be fed is instantly replaced by hot frustration. It burns inside me. Locking my lips together, I'm tempted to tell him to go to hell. I could throw one word of profanity after another at him.

  But what then?

  It's almost the dark. What if he decides to just leave me here? What would I do then?

  "I'll be good," I mutter.

  "That's not how little puppy girls promise to be good."

  My eyes widen with shock. I hate the idea that he can call me a puppy girl. I'm not a dog. I'm not a canine. I'm human! I’m a young, rich, powerful woman, and he should be afraid of me! He shouldn’t be able to treat me like this!

  Should and shouldn't are irrelevant here.

  "How do they promise to be good?"

  "You're smart puppy. I'm sure you can figure it out."

  "Stop calling me that!" I growl at him, slamming my palm against the metal bars of my kennel. The metal bars vibrate. It's not very impressive.

  Michael doesn't flinch, nor does he retreat back. If anything, he just smirks at me, clearly enjoying my little outburst.

  "How do the little puppies make their promises?"

  I bow my head. I still can't force myself to speak.

  "You know, in this bag, I have lots of little doggie treats for my little doggie girl. If only she can tell me that she's going to be good, then I can feed her. But maybe she's not hungry? What do you think? Is my little doggie girl hungry? Is she ready to make that promise?"

  Deep down, I understand exactly what Michael expects from me. I'm actually quivering. I'm actually shaking.

  And somehow, my pussy is damp. That shouldn't be possible, but I can feel the little tendrils of arousal snake through my core. Burying those impulses deep down inside of me, I lift my chin.

  "Arf. Arf.”

  "Ah, very good," he says, his voice rippling with condescension. He reaches into the bag, pulled something out. It's a small package. He rips it open and drops something out onto his hand. Then he throws it, letting it fall through the bars of my cage.

  A small, dark puff of food is sitting there right in front of me. I lick my lips. "I'm not going to eat off of the ground," I tell him.

  "You will if you're hungry," he tells me.

  "This isn't fair," I say.

  "No, it's not. But this isn't about fairness. This is about training. In this case, you're the pet, I’m the trainer, and that means you're going to eat off of the ground like a good little animal. Show me you can be a good little doggie. I know you can. You already barked for me."

  Damn it. He's right. If I'm willing to bark like a dog, and if I don't have my clothes, and if there's a collar around my neck, what a good is being stubborn now? What do I think I'm going to accomplish?

  Compromising myself again, I lower my head toward the floor. I brush my lips over the little puff of food. At first, I figure it must've been some kind of cereal. Only now, I don't smell chocolate or sugar. So what is it?

  Michael opens the cage door, and he places his hand on the back of my skull. "Eat it," he commands. Instinctively, I try to pull my head back, only that doesn't work. He refuses to let me up. "Eat it," he orders again. Damn it. I'm stuck.

  So I open my mouth, I take the little puff between my teeth, I start chewing. It crunches, but it seems largely flavorless. I don't like this. I don't like it at all! I'm supposed being fine gourmet, not eat off of the floor like a dog!

  "Oh, is the little puppy upset? Is she thinking about what she's more accustomed to? Well, that's too bad. You're not going to be a spoiled brat anymore. You know, if you really want to keep your title, that could be arranged."

  "I'll have the title. Just rich."

  "What you talking about? There are entire blogs dedicated to your exploits. And you know what they call you, Katrina?"

  The color drains away from my cheeks. I know exactly what they call me.

  I just don't want to hear those words come from his lips.

  "Princess Katrina," he reminds me, his voice loaded with disdain. "They think of you as a princess because you're this rich, spoiled little brat who can get away with anything. But that's over now."

  "Don't call me that. Don't call me that ever again."

  "Hey, you need a puppy name. I think Princess will be a great puppy name for you."

  "Stop it!" I growl, but there's no way for me to frighten this man, not when I'm naked and down on my knees, still in a cage. Worse, he hasn't taken his hand off of the back of my head.

  "Bark for me. Bark for me, Princess." He's having fun with me. I can hear it in his voice. This is all a game to him. It's just a joke. He is literally training me to be an animal, and he thinks it's funny.

  "Arf-arf!” Honestly, I don't know what possesses me to do it, but I bark for him. I make those little sounds, and I sound so silly, so incredibly pathetic.

  "Again."

  I inhale, hesitating. Can I do it? Can I bark again?

  Yes, I can. "Arf! Arf, arf-arf! Arf-arf-arf!” I make the sounds until I'm breathless, and he runs his fingers through my hair. He massages my scalp, and I bow my head down. "Good girl. I think Princess has earned herself a meal."

  Gratitude flushes through my body, not that I'm willing to admit it. He pulls another bowl from the bag he carries with him, and he empties another package into it. He sets it down by the water bowl.

  "Go ahead. Eat. I can be patient," he informs me.

  Michael stands now, taking a step back, like he wants to give me my space.

  Reluctantly, I crawl forward, driven by hunger more than anything else.

  As he watches, I bring my fingers down into the little puffs of food. I pick them up, and I’m just about to bring them to my lips when he calls out those two syllables I have learned to despise. "Sit, girl."

  The puffs of nutrition scatter down onto the fake turf. Worse, the weakness overwhelms me, dropping me down onto my stomach. "Hey! What was that for?"

  "Do dogs eat with their hands?"

  "I'm not a dog."

  "And there you go, forgetting your place again. Here, I think these are going to help. Sit up, girl."

  At least he isn't calling me Princess anymore. That
's something.

  I get up onto my haunches, confused and hungry. I'm disoriented.

  He crouches in front of me, and he pulls out a set of mitts from his bag. They are black, leather, and heavy. They have hexagonal pads at the front, and I can't help but notice the paw prints.

  "This will help you remember your place," he says, pulling one glove over my hand. He secures it with heavy-duty buckles. Once my hand is in the mitt, I grimace because my hand is now forced into the shape of a fist. Worse, the mitt’s heavy padding will make it impossible for me to use my fingers.

  When he reaches for my other arm, I try to pull back. "No, no," he says wagging his finger. "Do I need to spank you again?"

  Inhaling, I fill my lungs, hating the fact that I'm about to surrender to him. A clinical psychologist is taking me down, one step at a time.

  But I'm going to find an opportunity. At some point, he will make a mistake, and I will seize it. I will show him that he can't do this to me. I'm better than him!

  Extending my arm, I know what's about to happen next. He slides the mitt over my hand, and once it's in place, he buckles it on, just like the first one. Now, I can't use my hands at all.

  "Go ahead. Eat up your dog food, dog."

  Doing my best not to grimace or blush, I bow my head down, all while he watches. I pick up bites of dog food, one at a time between my teeth. I chew, swallow. As much as I hate to admit it, this actually starts to help. I start to feel just a little bit better as the nutrition runs through my body.

  "Good girl. Now I think you want to have something to drink, don't you?"

  "Please, don't make me," I tell him even though my mouth is dry.

  Michael doesn't bother to argue with me. He doesn't attempt to coerce me. Instead, he just places his hand on the back of my head once again. He pushes me down, so my lips hover above the water.

  The last inch is going to be up to me. I can't look away, and I am absolutely stuck.