No Chance!

She threw her head back with a laugh that bounced off the walls, the bell chiming wildly with the motion. "Oh, puppy," she sighed, wiping her eyes like I'd told the funniest joke in the world. "Did you seriously think becoming my boyfriend meant you stopped being our pet?" Her fingers tapped the pink nylon still locked around my throat, the bell jingling with each touch. "Aisha's already designing matching leashes. Nyla voted to feed you from a bowl."

The blood drained from my face as her phone buzzed violently on the carpet—*ping ping ping*—screen lighting up with a rapid-fire slideshow of texts: Leash designs attached, Bowls in cart, WAIT TILL U SEE THE OUTFIT. Sanah's grin turned predatory as she scooped it up, thumb hovering over the keyboard. "Wanna know what else they're planning?" she murmured, tracing the collar's edge with her pinky. "Or should I just show you Monday when they collar-shame you in the cafeteria?"

My stomach lurched. The worst part wasn't the humiliation—it was the way her knee shifted against my thigh as she spoke, the way her breath hitched when I flinched, like she was drunk on my surrender. And the very worst part? The tiny, traitorous thrill that shot down my spine when she whispered, "Good boys get head pats," and her fingers slid into my hair.

"When we walk you," she continued conversationally, scrolling through her phone with one hand while the other somehow tightened around my wrist, "I think you should wear the leash—but Aisha wants you to carry hers in your mouth like a—" She broke off with a gasp, eyes alight. "Oh my god, perfect—Nyla just sent dress code ideas!"

Her phone screen flashed—some unholy Pinterest board labeled PET BOY AESTHETIC—I wanted to disappear, be anywhere but there, I almost found the strength to mount a protest but she just cooed, catching my chin with her socked foot. "Kiss, kiss" she ordered, wiggling her toes against my lips. I clenched my jaw, stubborn, until her phone buzzed with another notification—a preview of Aisha typing "post foot kiss video to his Instagram?"—and my lips parted involuntarily against the fabric.

Sanah giggled, triumphant, as her toes pressed into the damp heat of my mouth. "Mmm, good boy," she sighed, arching her back like a cat stretching in sunlight—except her heel was digging into my sternum, holding me down as she scrolled through her phone one-handed. "Nyla says black leather would look hotter on you, but I insisted on pink—" Her toes curled against my tongue, cutting me off. "I knew you'd look so pretty in pink."

Her phone buzzed incessantly—texts stacking up faster than she could read them—and the occasional squelch of cotton against my teeth filled the pauses between notifications. I could taste the salt of her skin through the fabric, feel the exact moment her breath hitched when Aisha sent a particularly mortifying suggestion, her foot twitching against my lips. "Ohhh, she wants to test you," Sanah purred, tilting the screen just enough for me to catch a glimpse of "make him bark for treats" before her sock muffled my groan. "Don't worry, puppy—I'll train you first."

The couch creaked as she shifted, her free leg hooking around my waist to drag me closer. "Aisha's jealous," she announced gleefully, her thumbs flying over the keyboard while her toes absently kneaded my bottom lip. "She says it's unfair we get a whole weekend, together and that they should get to come over and share you." Sanah teased my lips with her toes. "Do you want them to come over? Do you want to meet your new masters?"