The final bell was a starter pistol. The halls emptied, a tide of uniformed bodies receding to leave behind the quiet hum of the building's machinery. My day had been a study in containment, a series of classes where the ghost of Kaito's shattered expression and the phantom heat of Yuki's promises warred for my attention. Now, the war was over. It was time for the victor's spoils.
The faculty locker room was waiting. My sanctuary. My abattoir. The air within was stale, but layered. Beneath the dust and mildew was the sharp, coppery tang of yesterday's fear, a scent I was quickly coming to associate with profound satisfaction.
He was already there, as commanded. Yamada Kaito. He stood with his back to the lockers, a parody of defiance. His arms were not crossed today. He knew better. But his posture was stiff, his jaw a tight knot of resentment. It was a pathetic, transparent defense, and my eyes, which could now see the fractures in a person's soul, saw right through it.
He was a ruin. A beautiful, brutalist sculpture I had only just begun to carve.
I dropped my weighted backpack. The THUD was a gunshot in the silence, and he flinched, a full-body tremor that betrayed the terror he was trying so desperately to conceal.
"Inspection," I said. My voice was soft, a deliberate contrast to the violent impact of my bag.
He swallowed hard, the motion visible in his throat. He turned, his movements stiff and jerky, and presented himself. The steel cage, a grim and permanent fixture, was still locked tight around his flaccid genitals. I stepped closer, my gaze clinical, and circled him like a wolf inspecting its kill. The faint glint of the pink jewel nestled between his bruised ass cheeks was an offensive, beautiful little detail. A brand. My brand.
He had showered. The thought was amusing. He was trying to maintain some semblance of hygiene, of normalcy, in the face of his utter degradation.
"You're twitching, Kaito," I murmured, my voice a silken thread in the heavy air. "Is something the matter?"
He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw flexing. "Mistress…" The word was a shard of glass he was forced to swallow. "I… I need to use the bathroom."
I tilted my head, feigning curiosity. I stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the humiliated heat rolling off his skin. "Oh? And why is that? Did you drink too much water at lunch?"
His face flushed a deep, mottled crimson. He couldn't meet my eyes. He stared at the grimy floor, his good hand clenching and unclenching at his side. "No, Mistress. It's… your… your cum. From yesterday. It's… about to come out."
A slow, cruel smile spread across my lips. The confession was exquisite. A testament to how deeply I had marked him, inside and out. It wasn't just his mind and his body I was colonizing, but the very fluids within him.
"You don't want to make a mess on my floor, do you?" I purred. "That would be very inconsiderate. You would have to be punished." I reached out and yanked the chain attached to his buttplug, not hard enough to pull it out, but enough to make him yelp, his body jerking with the sudden, sharp reminder of his violation. "Go. You have one minute."
He scrambled away, his bare feet slapping against the cold tile, a symphony of rattling metal and pathetic, choked sobs. I walked to the bench and sat, the picture of casual authority. I listened to the sounds from the shower stall—the frantic fumbling, the hiss of the water, the quiet, broken weeping of a boy who was ceasing to exist.
He returned within the minute, shivering and wet. He stood before me, head bowed, a drenched and defeated animal.
"Present," I commanded.
He turned and bent over, offering me the sight of his clean, puckered anus. It was red, irritated, a testament to my morning's work.
"Good," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "You can follow basic instructions. Perhaps there's hope for you yet." I stood and walked to him, looming over his trembling form. "Now, I need to make sure you've been thoroughly… emptied."
I grabbed the chain of the buttplug. He tensed, anticipating the pull. I savored the moment, letting the dread build. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I began to pull. It wasn't a quick yank. I drew it out, inch by torturous inch, the metal scraping against his tender, abused flesh. He gasped, his body convulsing with each subtle movement. A low, keening moan escaped his lips as the largest sphere breached his sphincter. The sound was a drug. Finally, with a wet, obscene plop, the jewel came free. His rosebud, raw and inflamed, twitched, spasming in a futile attempt to close itself.
I held the plug up, examining it as if it were a rare artifact. I didn't clean it. I walked back in front of him, forcing him to look up from his bent-over position. I held the jewel, still slick with his internal fluids, before his eyes.
"You will learn to love this feeling, Kaito," I whispered, the promise a venomous caress. "You will learn to beg for it."
I turned him around, forcing him to face me. "On your knees." He collapsed onto the floor. I crouched before him, bringing the plug to his lips. "Lick it clean."
A sob broke from his throat. "Mistress… please…"
"Lick. It. Clean." My voice was ice. "Or the next thing you taste will be the floor tiles as I smash your face into them."
The fight went out of him. His eyes, swimming with tears and a hatred so pure it was almost beautiful, closed. His tongue, hesitant and trembling, darted out and licked the jewel. He gagged, but I held it steady. He cleaned it, his own tears mixing with the slickness, until it shone.
"Good boy," I praised, the words dripping with condescension. I stood up and walked behind him again. "Now, assume the position."
He obeyed without a word, bending over the bench once more. I didn't use lube. I used the saliva from his own mouth, still clinging to the plug, and with one swift, brutal thrust, I shoved it back inside him. He screamed, a raw, high-pitched sound of pure violation. The lesson was clear: there was no escape. There was only my will.
"Go home," I commanded, turning away from him as I began to strip for my own shower. "The plug stays in. The cage stays on. If I inspect you tomorrow and find either one missing, I will break your other hand. Then I will break your legs. Do you understand me?"
"Yes… Mistress," he choked out, the words lost in a torrent of weeping. He scrambled for his clothes and fled, a pathetic ghost rattling his way out of my temple. I stood in the silence, the echo of his pain a pleasant thrum in my veins. But it was a cold pleasure. A predator's satisfaction.
My thoughts turned to Yuki. To the promise of a different kind of pleasure. Hot, willing, and utterly devoted. A different kind of power.
After showering and changing back into my pristine uniform, the very picture of an ordinary schoolgirl, I stepped out into the crisp evening air. I dialed my mother's number.
"Akira-chan!" Her voice was laced with a hopeful warmth she couldn't quite conceal.
"Okaa-san," I began, my own voice a careful construction of shy excitement. "I'm calling to let you know… I'm going to Yuki-chan's house again. Is that okay?"
"Oh! Of course, darling! You sound so happy." The relief in her voice was palpable. Her strange, isolated daughter was becoming normal.
"I am, Mom. She's… she's really great. We have so much fun. She has a surprise for me tonight." I let a note of genuine anticipation leak into my voice. It wasn't a complete lie. "I might be a little late. Don't wait up for me, okay?"
"Alright, sweetie. Just be safe. And have fun with your friend!"
"I will, Mom. I promise I'll have lots of fun with Yuki-chan," I said, the words a delicious, secret joke. I hung up, a predatory smile touching my lips.
The walk to Yuki's neighborhood was a transition between worlds. I left the mundane world of my parents and my school behind, and entered a realm of manicured lawns and high privacy walls. A world of clean, expensive air. I was a sweaty, primal beast stalking through a porcelain dollhouse, and the contrast was intoxicating. My cock, which had been dormant during Kaito's ritual, began to stir, a slow, heavy pulse against the fabric of my skirt. Tonight wasn't about breaking. It was about playing. And I intended to play rough.
I found the imposing modern house of glass and dark wood and pressed the buzzer.
"Who is it?" Yuki's voice crackled through the speaker, filtered and distant.
"It's the breeder," I purred into the intercom, my voice low and thick with promise. "I received an anonymous tip about a bitch in heat. A very naughty puppy in desperate need of being collared, leashed, and thoroughly bred."
There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a breathless, shaky chuckle. "Come in. The bitch is… eager for her training."
The gate buzzed and swung open. The short walk to the front door was an eternity of escalating lust. My cock was a painful, throbbing pillar now, demanding release. The front door was ajar. I pushed it open to find the foyer empty, save for a small, handwritten note on a console table.
'Akira-sama, please lock the door and come downstairs. Your puppy is waiting.'
I did as instructed, my heart hammering a brutal rhythm against my ribs. I placed my bag in the closet and descended the floating staircase to the basement. The door was closed. I wrapped my hand around the cold, steel knob, took a deep breath, and opened it.
The sight that greeted me sent a jolt of pure, white-hot electricity straight to my groin.
Yuki was on all fours in the center of the room. The puppy outfit was even more exquisite than in the photo. It was crafted from soft, fluffy brown material that left strategic, gaping holes for her full breasts and her glistening, waiting pussy. A long, brown, fluffy tail-plug was nestled in her ass, wagging with an almost frantic energy. On her head, a pair of floppy dog ears completed the picture. She looked up at me, her face a mask of pure, devoted adoration.
"Woof!" she barked, a happy, welcoming sound.
My cock strained against my panties, a painful, desperate ache. She crawled towards me, her movements an uncanny imitation of an excited puppy. She reached me and, using her hands, 'jumped' up, planting her palms on my stomach. Her tongue was lolling out, her eyes sparkling. When I lowered my hand, she began to lick it eagerly, her tail wagging furiously.
A dark, possessive grin stretched my lips. "Well, hello," I murmured, my voice a low growl. I began to pet her head, my fingers sinking into her hair. "Are you a good girl? Or have you been a very, very naughty puppy?"
"Woof! Woof!" she answered, her happy yips echoing in the vast, concrete room. She was so completely, utterly lost in her role. It was magnificent.
A fleeting, deliciously cruel idea sparked in my mind. "Would puppy like to go for a walk?" I whispered, the thought of leashing her and walking her through the pristine, quiet streets of her neighborhood sending a shiver of wicked delight down my spine.
She froze, a low whine escaping her throat. It was a sound of fear and excitement, a clear sign that the idea both terrified and thrilled her. A boundary she was begging me to cross. Not tonight, I thought. But soon.
My eyes scanned the room and landed on a small table near the bed. On it, laid out as if on an altar, were a black leather collar and a matching leash. I walked over, her whining growing more desperate as I moved away. I picked them up. The leather was thick, heavy. Serious. I dangled them in front of her.
Her response was a frantic, ecstatic bark. I knelt before her and fastened the collar around her neck. I pulled it tight, leaving almost no give. The sound of the buckle clicking shut was a profound, final declaration of ownership. I attached the leash and gave it a gentle tug. She strained against it, another happy bark tearing from her throat. My cock was a solid rod of iron now, the pressure almost unbearable. She noticed, her gaze dropping to the prominent bulge in my skirt, her eyes wide and mesmerized.
She opened her mouth, ready to crawl forward and offer her services, but I yanked the leash sharply. She yelped, her head snapping back, forced to look up at me. A confused whine escaped her.
"No treats for naughty puppies," I chided, my voice a cruel purr. "Not until you've earned them." I walked her on the leash to the large leather bed, the site of last night's beautiful destruction. "Now. Beg."
She barked, wagging her tail, her eyes pleading.
"Properly," I commanded.
She thought for a moment, then, with a stroke of genius, she turned, presented her ass to me, and began to whimper, her tail-plug twitching pathetically. It was perfect. A perfect picture of a bitch offering herself to her master.
But it wasn't enough. The sight was intoxicating, but the easy submission lacked the sharp, addictive edge of true desperation. I needed to break something.
"That's a good trick," I said, walking around to face her. "But I want a better one." I sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her. "I've been thinking, Yuki-chan. You seem to enjoy being helpless. You seem to enjoy my strength." I flexed my bicep, the muscle swelling into a hard, dense knot under my skin. "You like this, don't you?"
Her eyes widened, a new kind of hunger dawning in them. She nodded frantically, whimpering.
"Use your words, puppy," I commanded.
"Yes, Akira-sama! Please!" she gasped, breaking character for a moment. "I… I want to feel it. Please. I want to know what it feels like to have all that power wrapped around my throat. Please… choke me."
Her request hung in the air, a beautiful, terrifying thing. She was begging me to hurt her, to take her to the very edge of oblivion. A shiver of pure, predatory ecstasy ran through me. This was the game I wanted to play.
"As you wish," I whispered. I reached down, my hand cupping the back of her head, and guided her neck into the crook of my arm. I began to squeeze, slowly at first, letting her feel the pressure build. My bicep, all fifteen inches of dense, hard-earned muscle, swelled against her delicate throat. Her eyes went wide with a mixture of terror and bliss. She began to struggle, her hands clawing weakly at my arm.
Gasp. Choke. Her breath came in ragged, desperate heaves. The air was being cut off. Her face began to flush, a lovely shade of pink deepening to red. I watched her, my expression unreadable, fascinated by the beautiful, violent process of a creature surrendering its most basic need—the need to breathe—to my power.
"Do you feel that, Yuki?" I murmured, my lips close to her ear. "That's my power. This is what it feels like when I decide whether you live or die."
Just as her struggles began to weaken, her eyes starting to glaze over, she managed to choke out another request, her voice a raw, broken rasp. "P-Please… Akira-sama… film this… I want to watch it… I want to see my face when you break me…"
A low, guttural laugh rumbled in my chest. She was perfect. An absolute masterpiece of depravity. I grabbed my phone from my skirt pocket with my free hand, propped it up on the bedside table, and hit record. I adjusted the angle to capture every beautiful, terrible detail.
"Smile for the camera, puppy," I snarled, and then I squeezed. Hard.
Her body convulsed, a silent scream trapped in her constricted throat. Her fingers, which had been clawing at my arm, went limp. Her body sagged, her entire weight held up by my arm around her neck. She was close. So close to passing out. Right on that perfect, exquisite edge.
I released her.
She collapsed to the floor, a boneless heap of fur and flesh, dragging in huge, shuddering, life-giving breaths. She coughed, she sputtered, her eyes streaming with tears. She looked up at me, her face a beautiful wreck of tear-streaked makeup and raw adoration.
"Thank you… Akira-sama… thank you," she wept.
I stood over her, my cock a brutal, throbbing weapon. The sight of her, so completely broken and grateful for it, had pushed me over the edge. I tore off my skirt and panties, letting them fall to the floor.
"Now for your real treat," I growled. I grabbed one of the magnum condoms from the box she'd laid out for me and rolled it on. She watched the entire process, her eyes glazed with lust, her chest still heaving.
I didn't wait for her to recover. I grabbed her by the fur-covered hips, hauled her onto the bed, and positioned her on all fours. I lined myself up with her wet, waiting cunt.
"Now you will howl for me," I roared, and I slammed into her.
She screamed, a raw, piercing sound that was half pain, half ecstasy. Her pussy, already hypersensitive, clenched around me like a vise. I fucked her with a brutal, punishing rhythm, my hips slamming against her, each thrust a declaration of my absolute dominion. I was an animal, and she was my prey.
"Howl, bitch!" I commanded, my hand coming down hard on her ass, the sound a sharp CRACK against the fur.
"Awoooooo!" A desperate, broken howl was torn from her throat. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. I fucked her harder, faster, chasing her cries, riding the waves of her endless orgasms. I was a force of nature, and she was the landscape I was reshaping, tearing apart and remaking in my own image.
The pressure in my balls was immense, a tidal wave of pure, victorious pleasure. With a final, soul-shattering thrust, I roared my release, my body arching as I flooded the condom, my own voice cracking with the sheer intensity of it.
I collapsed on top of her, both of us drenched in sweat and her fluids. She was limp beneath me, completely gone. Cum drunk.
Slowly, I pulled out of her, the heavy condom slipping free. I laid her gently on her side and stood, my body humming with a power that was terrifying and divine. I needed to ground myself. I looked at my phone, still recording. I stopped it, saving the file. My new masterpiece.
Then I looked at the digital clock on the bedside table. 10:40 PM.
A cold, sharp thrill cut through the haze of my lust. The thought of Miki, of her smug, stupid face, returned with a vengeance. The hunger was not sated. It had only grown sharper.
I had another appointment to keep.