Nighty night

Ralf climbed the wide staircase, footsteps echoing through the silent house.

At the top he unclipped the leash from the banister. Emily (still naked, collar snug around her throat, eyes red and puffy) crawled after him on all fours, soft whimpers escaping despite the rule against human speech.

He chose the master bedroom (formerly Rebecca and David’s), kicked the door shut behind them, and stripped to his boxers. The king-size bed looked enormous, the sheets crisp and expensive.

“Up,” he said, patting the mattress.

Emily scrambled onto the bed, trembling.

“Lie on your side, facing me. Take it out. Put it in your mouth. And keep it there all night. Slow, gentle, barely moving. Like a pacifier. If I wake up and you’ve stopped even for a second, tomorrow will be much worse.”

She curled against his thigh, tears sliding silently onto the pillow as she obeyed. Her lips closed around him, warm and soft, the tiniest, most careful suction (just enough to feel, not enough to wake him).

Ralf threaded his fingers through her hair, gave one last possessive squeeze, and closed his eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, already drifting. “Good dog.”

Within minutes his breathing evened out, deep and steady.

Emily stayed exactly where she was, mouth full, throat aching, tears drying on her cheeks, moving only in the faintest, most obedient rhythm while the house around her slept in perfect, terrified silence.