I wake up on the floor again, my body curled into the pillow I dragged down last night. Not because the app told me to. Because I chose to. The bed looms above me, untouched, sheets still tucked tight. My phone’s already awake, glowing with that soft amber pulse, the pawprint icon steady as a heartbeat. It’s Sunday morning, early, the kind of quiet where the city hasn’t fully stirred yet. My apartment feels like it’s holding its breath.

The screen lights up when I tap it, no delay, no fanfare. Words, warm and inviting, and that calming hum:

Good morning, Mia. You were so present yesterday.

Would you like to feel lighter today?

[YES] [NO] [SURPRISE ME]

I don’t hesitate this time. My finger finds YES before my brain can argue. The word *lighter* tugs at something in me, yesterday’s calm, the way pressing “Obey” felt like unlocking a door I didn’t know was there. I want that again. Just one more step.

The task loads, simple but heavier than before:

Day Two – Movement Routine

Try crawling to your kitchen.

Take your time. No rush.

Hips low, eyes soft. Let yourself glide.

Timer: 1 minute.

Would you like to begin?

I blink. *Crawling.* Not a stretch, not a meditation. Crawling, on all fours, like… what? My brain pushes back hard, this isn’t yoga, isn’t mindfulness. This is the puppy-girl stuff from the group chat, the line I swore I wouldn’t cross. But my body doesn’t agree. My knees are already warm from the rug, my hands itching to press into the carpet. I want that hum, that pulse from yesterday’s “Obey.” I lock my door, draw the blinds, and lower myself to the floor.

The timer starts. I move, hands, knees, slow and deliberate. My hips sway, not because I’m trying to perform, but because it feels… natural. The carpet brushes my palms, soft and steady, and something in me shivers, not fear, not shame, but release. Like I’m shedding a layer I didn’t know was weighing me down. Halfway to the kitchen, my phone chirps, the sound bright and approving:

You move so well when you let go.

I nearly collapse onto my elbows, my breath catching. The words hit like a touch, like someone’s watching, pleased. I finish the crawl and sit back on my heels, chest heaving like I’ve sprinted, but all I did was move ten feet. My body feels alive, awake in a way it hasn’t been in months.

The doorbell rings, sharp and jarring. I scramble to my feet, cheeks burning, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. At the door is a small black box, no label, just a pawprint logo embossed on the lid. My stomach drops. How do they know where I live? I didn’t give an address. I carry the box inside, hands trembling as I open it. Inside, nestled in velvet, is a tail plug, black, sleek, the tail’s hair an eerie match to my own dark brown. Beside it, a thick leather collar with a tiny silver bone charm and a pair of soft, fur-lined ear plugs. I touch my hair instinctively, heart pounding. The app didn’t ask for this. It just… knew.

I shove the tail back into its pouch and toss the box into a drawer, slamming it shut. My phone beeps, unprompted, and a new task loads:

Day Two – Movement Routine (Continued)

Repeat the crawl to your kitchen.

Optional Modifier: Wear the tail.

Feel it as you move. Let your body trail your obedience.

Reward: Custom warmth tone. Scent pulse.

Would you like to begin?

My heart kicks hard, a single thud against my ribs. *Wear the tail?* I’m not that person. I’m not some fetish caricature. But the reward, the memory of yesterday’s warm pulse, the way it sank into my bones, pulls at me. I pace the room, telling myself I’m done, I’m deleting the app. But I’m already at the drawer, fingers brushing the velvet pouch. The tail is softer than I expected, the base smooth and weighted, not tacky or cheap. It feels… intentional, like it’s meant to belong.

I kneel, lube in hand, breath shaky. This is crazy. I’m not doing this. Except I am. I slide the plug in, slow, the stretch sharp for a moment before settling into something fuller, heavier. Anchoring. I gasp, not from pain, but because it feels *right*, like a piece clicking into place. I crawl again, and the tail moves with me, a gentle sway that makes every step feel deliberate, alive. My hips know what to do before my brain can protest. The kitchen tiles are cool under my palms when I reach them, and the reward tone plays, low, warm, vibrating through me like a hand pressed to my lower back. My whole body shudders, and I stay there, on my knees, for longer than I mean to. Just breathing. Feeling it.