Mittens woke the same way she always did now: a low-frequency tremor in her ass, the tailored pulse of the tail plug rousing her from the anesthetized dark of sleep. The micro-motors worked through a programmed escalation, slow at first, then a quick burst of intensity just before it shut off. She moaned softly into the pillow, reflexively arching her back and wriggling her hips in the hope the next pulse would last longer. No such luck. The stimulation faded to a subtle afterglow, leaving her needy and alert and already leaking onto the soft, expensive bedding.

 

She was always wet and aroused now, whether or not she had eaten her breakfast. The heat between her legs never left her now, not even in sleep. The difference was that a year ago, she would panic at the overwhelming feeling and loss of control; now it only made her feel incredibly feminine. She just needed to obey, and maybe, if she was good, she’d get to cum.

 

She rolled to her knees, shaking out the stiffness that sleep always brought to her bound limbs. Saren liked to keep her mask on near-sighted mode now; enough detail to move around, not enough to be independent. Even through the blur she recognized the difference: gone were the piss-stained tiles and the cheap dog bed of her cell. Here, everything was soft and perfect, a color palette of whites and creams and silvery grays. The floor was a thick, padded carpet; the air was warm and smelled faintly of aftershave, clean sweat, and money. There was no window, but a whole wall of glass looked out over the city, the lights below so numerous and regular that it was impossible to tell where one ended and another began.

 

For a few seconds, she forgot what she was doing. The comfort was so total it was almost disorienting. She flexed her arms, then her legs, marveling at the fact that she felt… good. Not just alive, but pampered. Her tail swished behind her, the movement so instinctive now that she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

 

She surveyed her environment. Saren’s bedroom was vast, probably bigger than the apartment she’d once rented, but not in a showy way. The lines were clean, the furniture low and modern, the lighting indirect and calculated to keep every surface glowing gently. At the center of the space, Saren slept on a bed the size of a landing pad, sprawled naked under a duvet that looked like it cost more than Mittens’ childhood home. He lay face-up, one hand flopped carelessly across his chest, the other by his side. Even asleep, his face was composed and unsmiling. The only sign he was truly at rest was the faint movement of his chest, rising and falling in perfect intervals.

 

A ramp had been installed at the foot of the bed, a strip of heavy-duty foam and anti-slip mesh that led straight from the floor to the sheets. At first, she’d been embarrassed by the obvious implication of the gesture, but by now she only saw it as another fixture in her world, a tool designed for her convenience and Saren’s amusement. She scuttled up the ramp, careful not to scratch the fabric with the thick rubber pads of her sleeves, and burrowed under the covers. The sheets were a high thread-count cotton, so soft and so perfectly laundered they almost felt like liquid, and the scent of Saren was woven into every thread: expensive soap, skin, a trace of cologne she couldn’t name.

 

She wriggled further up the bed until she found Saren’s body, then nuzzled between his thighs, pushing her face deep into the tangle of his warmth. She felt a shudder of excitement ripple up her spine, partly from the proximity, partly from the anticipation of what was about to happen. His cock was slack, resting against one thigh, the head smooth and pale and almost delicate looking in sleep. She inhaled the scent of his musk, richer and more complex than the sheets or the air, and felt her mouth water at the memory of his taste.

 

She licked the underside of his shaft with slow, deliberate strokes, careful not to wake him just yet. The habit had been drilled into her over many weeks: always start slow, always savor the first moments, always lose yourself in the act before the master even opened his eyes. She let her tongue trace every vein, every subtle ridge, the motion as mindless and as necessary as breathing. When she finally wrapped her lips around the head and sucked it into her mouth, she nearly moaned from the joy of it, from the sense of completion it gave her.

 

She had been at it for maybe five minutes before Saren stirred. He didn’t wake up all at once; he was a man who took his time, even with consciousness. He shifted his hips, sighing softly, and reached down to rest a hand absently on her head. His fingers combed through the synthetic fur of her ears, then tapped out a lazy rhythm against her scalp.

 

He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at her. His hand simply settled into place, a gentle but inescapable pressure that said, “Stay.” And so she did, her mouth full and her mind empty, working his cock in slow, hungry pulses.

 

She could have stayed there forever, just breathing in the heat of his body and the scent of his skin, feeling the slow transformation of his cock as it hardened and grew heavy on her tongue. She lived for these moments, the animal simplicity of them, the utter lack of ambiguity or need for thought. She was here to serve, and nothing else in the world could touch her.

 

Saren eventually shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. He picked up his phone from the side table, the blue-white light casting sharp shadows across his face. He scrolled through emails and calendar invites, ignoring her except for the occasional absentminded caress. She sucked harder, wanting desperately to please him, to feel him tense and throb and spill down her throat, but she’d learned that Saren was not a man who gave up control easily. He’d let her work, let her worship, but he’d choose the moment of release and no force on earth could make him cum a second before he wanted to.

 

The humiliation of it should have been unbearable. But it wasn’t. It was almost a relief, to be so completely at the mercy of someone else’s will. She could surrender every last scrap of self to the act, and there was never any question of what came next. She just sucked and licked and bobbed her head, feeling the beads in her ass respond to Saren’s petting. The sensation was so perfectly calibrated that she could almost cum from it, but the rules still held: orgasm without permission was punished, and Saren’s algorithms always knew when she was about to lose control.

 

After a long while, Saren finally grunted and squeezed the back of her head, forcing her to take his cock all the way to the hilt. Her gag reflex had long since been trained out of her, and she held herself still, loving the way his cock twitched and pulsed against her tongue. He didn’t cum, not yet. He just liked the feeling of her choking on him, the wet sounds her mouth made as she fought for air. He held her there for a few seconds, then let her go, a string of spit and pre-cum trailing from his tip to her lips.

 

He went back to his phone, thumbing through another dozen notifications, and Mittens resumed her slow, desperate suckling. She’d do this for hours if he asked, never needing a reward, never wanting anything except the feeling of his cock in her mouth and the warm, lazy pleasure of being exactly what he wanted her to be.

 

The sun rose behind the city, lighting the windows with soft gold. The sheets grew warm with the heat of their bodies, and the room filled with the contented, animal sounds of pleasure and obedience.

 

Mittens lost track of time. She was a pet now, and the only measure that mattered was the rhythm of her master’s breath, the pressure of his hand, the taste of his skin on her tongue.

 

And she loved it.

 

 

---

 

 

When Saren finally pushed her away, Mittens let his cock slip from her lips with an audible pop and a trailing, slick filament of spit. He rose from the bed without a word, stretched, and made his way to the bathroom, still naked, the leash of his indifference trailing behind him.

 

Mittens followed at a respectful distance, crawling off the bed and down the ramp, following him as he crossed the room. She watched the flex of his calves, the play of muscle in his thighs. It wasn’t sexual, not exactly; it was more like the compulsion to follow a source of warmth, to attach herself to the only living thing that meant anything in her world.

 

She waited outside the bathroom door, rocking on her hips and thighs, tail twitching as she tried to ignore the restless, growing pressure in her cunt. The tail’s vibration had faded, but the aftershocks of arousal lingered. She could feel her leaking pussy start to make a puddle on the floor, clenching, always so, so empty. She tried to focus on something else, but her mind refused to obey. The world was reduced to sensation, need, the desperate want to taste Saren’s seed and feel the reward mechanism click in her brain.

 

When Saren emerged, fresh and unhurried, he glanced down and gave her a look of lighthearted disapproval. Pointing to the pool of girlcum on the floor, he chastened her. “Ah ah, Mittens! Clean that up!”

 

She blinked, suppressing a sliver of revulsion from the small part of Tessa that still inhabited her brain, then dipped her head and began eagerly lapping away at the warm, viscous puddle. The taste made her whimper in submission; sweet, slightly bitter, and unmistakably feminine. She made a messy job of it, tongue and nose mashed into the puddle, but she kept at it until the hardwood floor was clean and the taste clung to the roof of her mouth. When she looked up, Saren was already walking out of the bedroom towards the kitchen.

 

Mittens hurried after him, the rubber soles of her sleeves squeaking slightly on the tile. She caught up just as he reached the counter, where a state-of-the-art coffee machine was already whirring to life, grinding beans and hissing steam into the morning quiet.

 

The kitchen was even more immaculate than the bedroom, with everything arranged in perfect, utilitarian rows. Stainless steel, matte black, no clutter anywhere. The only sign that a human actually lived here was the faint trace of yesterday’s coffee grounds, not yet wiped away by the staff. Mittens scanned the room, searching for any sign of the other pets, but there was no one here but her and Saren. She wondered if they had been rotated out, disposed of, or simply caged for the day.

 

Saren leaned against the counter and tapped at his phone, waiting for his coffee to finish. He didn’t look at Mittens, but he didn’t need to. She stayed at his feet, head bowed, tail low, waiting for any sign that she was wanted. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be proud of this, but she was. There was a rightness to it, a security in knowing exactly where she belonged.

 

The coffee machine beeped, and Saren poured himself a cup. He didn’t add anything to it. Mittens watched the steam rise from the cup and felt her own mouth water. She wanted it, wanted anything that came from him, but she knew better than to beg. Not unless she was told to.

 

Saren took a small sip of his coffee, then set the cup down and called out in a low, commanding voice. “Daisy.”

 

A door at the far end of the kitchen slid open, and Daisy shuffled in, moving with the slow, awkward gait of someone not fully in control of her own body. Mittens stared in awe at the sight of her.

 

Daisy was bound and masked just like Mittens, but the design was different: white latex patterned with irregular splotches of black. She stumbled on her four stumps, awkwardly trying to move while encumbered with two massive piles of flesh between them. Her breasts were enormous; impossibly so, swollen and veined, each pale nipple leaked a steady trickle of milk as it dragged on the floor. There was a tail, too, this one white, thin one with a black tip.

 

Daisy’s mask was even more humiliating: just like Tessa’s, it covered her entire head, save for the mouth and nostrils, and was topped with a pair of floppy cow ears that jutted out to the sides. Tiny, useless horns peeked out above the ears. There were no eyeholes, just a padded layer that flattened her vision into nothing. Her mouth was stretched open by a wide ring gag, and saliva continuously dripped from it.

 

She mooed, a low, pathetic sound that was somewhere between a sob and a groan, and wobbled towards Saren, leaking from her udders, mouth, and cunt the whole way.

 

“Good girl,” Saren said, barely glancing at her. “Up.”

 

Daisy sat back on her knees, then leaned forward until her face was almost at Saren’s crotch level. She stayed perfectly still, as if frozen by the effort of obedience. Saren set his coffee down and reached out, squeezing one of Daisy’s udders in his hand. Milk gushed out in a thick, white stream, splashing against the countertop and pooling around the base of his mug. He aimed the nipple at his cup and gave it a few more squeezes, topping off the coffee with fresh, body-warm cream.

 

He smiled, then looked down at Daisy. “You need to work on that, girl. Too much waste. If I catch you leaking on the floors again, I’ll have the staff pump you dry and start over.”

 

Daisy just mooed again, softer this time, and tried to straighten up. Milk dripped down her soft abdomen, pooling in her belly button and collecting between her thighs. The sight was obscene, but Mittens couldn’t look away. She felt a new surge of heat in her own body, a strange combination of jealousy and arousal and pity that she couldn’t begin to parse.

 

Saren sipped his coffee, then leaned down and wiped a stray bead of milk from Daisy’s nipple. He licked it off his finger, savoring the taste. “Much better,” he said, then gave her a gentle pat on the head.

 

He finally looked at Mittens, his eyes cold and analytical. “Hungry?” he asked.

 

Mittens nodded, her tail wagging involuntarily.

 

“Good. Breakfast.”

 

He sat at the table and Mittens scurried over on all fours, crawling under the table by Saren’s feet. She resumed her earlier position, between his legs, right where she belonged. Saren ignored her, focusing on his coffee and his phone, but every so often he’d reach down to scratch behind her ears.

 

She nuzzled deeper between Saren’s thighs, drinking in the dense, animal warmth there. The scent was thick and perfect, spiced with the faint metallic tang of sweat and the ghost of last night’s release. Mittens buried her face against the softness of his balls, inhaling so hard she felt dizzy. She let her tongue roam, flattening it against the seam and then dragging slow, worshipful laps up the underside. Saren’s cock twitched at the attention, but she lingered, working her tongue under the base, circling the ridge, savoring the silky skin and the way it changed with every shift of his hips.

 

She wanted to crawl inside him, to lose herself in the musky darkness. She pressed her nose into the hollow where his thigh met his groin, rolling her head side to side, smearing her face with his scent. Not wanting to disappoint her master, however, she took his hardening cock into her mouth again. She kept at it, working it with her mouth and tongue, all muscle memory and rote worship. His thighs tensed rhythmically against her cheeks; she learned to anticipate the minute changes in his body, to gauge the moods and intentions behind his touch.

 

She felt a rush of pleasure every time Saren petted her, the tail plug buzzing in response to the touch, and she rewarded him with a shuddering moan that vibrated his cock inside her mouth. He seemed to like this, because he started to do it more often, scratching her head in time with her movements.

 

Mittens heard the kitchen door open again, and Luna padded in, carrying a pair of house slippers in her mouth. Her brown ears flopped cheerfully against her hood, and her matching tail bounced with every step.

 

She dropped the slippers at Saren’s feet and sat, wagging her tail and panting. Saren didn’t even look at her, just held out his hand and snapped his fingers.

 

“Play dead.”

 

Luna immediately rolled onto her back, exposing her belly and spreading her legs wide. She wagged her tail even harder, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she waited for a command. Saren reached down and patted her head, then trailed his fingers down her body to her cunt, which was already dripping and swollen.

 

He pressed two fingers inside her, working them in and out with slow, lazy precision. Luna let out a keening whine, arching her back and grinding into his hand. Her whole body trembled with the force of her need. Saren didn’t seem to care, just kept finger-fucking her while sipping his coffee and reading the news on his phone.

 

After a few minutes, Saren casually ordered “Cum, Luna.”

 

She instantly spasmed and squirted, the juice splashing across her thighs and stomach, coating her in a glistening layer of slime. Saren withdrew his fingers and wiped them across Luna’s stomach and face. He offered the rest to Mittens, who licked his fingers clean without hesitation, the familiar taste of Luna’s cunt sweet and sharp on her tongue.

 

A flash of jealousy burned through Mittens; she hadn’t cum in weeks. But Saren knew best, and she went back to sucking Saren’s cock, faster now, desperate to give him the same pleasure he had given Luna. She bobbed her head, taking him deeper with each stroke, her jaw aching but her spirit soaring. She could taste the salt and sweat of his skin, the electric tang of pre-cum, and she wanted more. She needed it, needed the reward of his approval and the rush of chemicals that came with it.

 

When Saren finally tensed, his hand forced her head all the way forwards, pressing her nose into his pubic bone. He came in a slow, controlled spurt, filling her throat with bitter, burning semen. Mittens swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of it as she gulped it down. It was better than anything she’d ever eaten, better than any food, any drug, any pleasure she could remember. She licked him clean, then rested her head against his thigh, breathing in the scent of him and feeling the afterglow ripple through her body.

 

She glanced up and saw Daisy and Luna sprawled on the floor, both panting in a haze of arousal, both staring at Saren with the same adoration that Mittens felt in her own chest.

 

This was the new normal. Breakfast, obedience, reward.

 

And she wouldn’t have changed a thing.

 

 

---

 

 

Saren leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, coffee mug balanced in one hand. The air outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was already turning white with morning haze, and the city looked small and perfectly arranged beneath him, as if the whole world had been shrink-wrapped for his convenience.

 

He watched the traffic snarl on the arterial roads, the endless streams of headlights merging and splitting according to algorithms more complex than anything in nature. He watched as clouds rolled in over the towers, pooling in the valleys before being burned off by the rising sun. Down below, invisible, tens of thousands of people worked and sweated and suffered to make all of this happen, and none of them would ever know who truly owned them.

 

He glanced at the floor, where his three pets sprawled in happy exhaustion. Mittens nuzzled into the crook of his leg, eyes closed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Daisy drooled milk onto the tile, her titanic breasts already swelling in anticipation of the next milking. Luna dozed with her head in Mittens’ lap, tail wagging even in sleep.

 

They were perfect. They were his.

 

Saren sipped the coffee, savoring the rich, fatty sweetness Daisy had provided. The bitterness balanced against the milk, sharp and complex and alive. He took another slow, thoughtful drink, then set the mug down and let his gaze drift back to the city.

 

He could see the ViTech headquarters from here, the glass monolith with his name on every floor, the research labs glowing faintly blue even at this hour. There were hundreds of Tessa Raines out there, all of them desperate to uncover his secrets, to bring him down. He almost wished them luck. But in the end, they’d end up just like her, crawling to him, addicted to his touch and his approval and the impossible sensation of belonging to something greater.

 

This was what he had always wanted. Not power for its own sake, but power as an art, the transformation of human will into something sublime. A world remade in his image, one obedient mouth at a time.

 

He let his hand rest on Mittens’ head, stroking her gently as she purred into his thigh. She would never again be anything but his.

 

He finished the coffee, set the empty cup on the table, and smiled out at the world.

 

Everything was exactly as it should be.