The Secret Life of Pet

Neither Ira nor Kennedy seemed to have the courage to make the first move, so they remained on the landing of the grand staircase. They had heard Terra’s introduction, including the use of their usernames, and their already abrupt arrival took on a tinge of embarrassment as well. To make matters worse, neither girl recognized Franklin on sight.

Terra was still annoyed at the Imps for allowing two contestants to be introduced at once. The audience always complained about the difficulty of differentiating the contestants until they’d had time to shine. That was already going to be an issue, given that their names and likenesses had been obscured during the vote. Now she had two deer in headlights to deal with; what she wouldn’t give for one of them to throw a fit.

Thankfully, having experienced these arrivals four times already, Franklin was able to right himself quickly and started up the stairs. Keeping his hands in front of him with his palms up, as if displaying that he was unarmed, he stopped a couple of steps down from the pair. He couldn’t help but notice that this left him at eye level with the short, black-haired girl.

Quietly, he spoke, “Hey, you two. I know this whole situation seems pretty crazy, and I’m sorry you got wrapped up in it, but I’m Franklin. You know me better online… as 2BFrank.”

Franklin ignored a stifled snort from Terra behind him as he watched recognition dawn on the two girls’ faces.

Ira balked, “That’s… that’s just for fun. We haven’t ever talked about meeting irl. How did I even get here?”

Franklin grimaced, “I know it’ll sound insane, but… magic.”

“There’s no such thing,” Ira said while violently shaking her head. “It’s just a game!”

Kennedy had been quiet thus far, but she placed her hand on the other girl’s shoulder and tried to comfort her. “It’ll be alright, he’s not a bad guy.” Turning to Franklin, she looked down at him from her higher position. “Right?”

Franklin sighed, “I’d like to think so. I want you to know that I didn’t choose for this to happen. I was brought here myself, just like you were.”

“This is crazy!” shouted Ira, appearing increasingly frantic.

Terra walked up the steps to join the group, her pen out and ready. She looked to the panicking girl and spoke calmly. “I know a contestant’s first moments here can be pretty stressful, Ms. Meeks. Would you like me to provide a little assistance so that you can remain calm and think clearly?”

Ira looked into the blonde woman’s rich brown eyes, noticing how still they seemed, like unshakable earth. She nodded her head in a minute motion and watched as the woman made a mark on the clipboard she carried.

“This should help. Just focus on your grounding techniques. Try counting the steps as you walk down to join everyone,” the Host said as she turned and led the trio the rest of the way down the stairs.

While Terra helped Ira, Franklin looked over at Kennedy. “Are you OK?”

The redhead smiled shyly, “I guess so. Watching someone else freak out distracted me from doing it. Is that weird?”

“Not really. It would have been fine if you were, though. Ira’s right about this being insane,” Franklin muttered as the group reached the center of the lobby.

“Now then,” the Host announced, “It might be a bit surprising, but the audience has chosen not just one but two of Franklin’s online playmates to join us right here on Harem Hotel!”

The two girls’ blushes rose anew as they heard the rundown of their new environment.

***

While Terra and Franklin were maneuvering the duo, the previously introduced contestants reacted to the new arrivals.

“Wow, I didn’t know Frankie was so...” Trudy trailed off as her cheeks pinkened.

“Adventurous?” Claudia suggested, while Lyra simultaneously said, “Deviant?”

The short-haired girl laughed hesitantly, “Heh, yeah.”

“The two of us were only together for a short time,” the Italian thief explained, “but he was certainly passionate. Looks like I missed out on the full breadth of his talents, though.” Seeing the embarrassed looks on Trudy and Lyra’s faces, she asked, “I take it the two of you didn’t have the kind of relationship with him?”

“Of course not,” responded Lyra. “We’re coworkers. In different departments.”

“Oh? You work at the Museum as well? I’m jealous, such lovely pieces there.” Claudia flattered the redhead before quickly turning to Trudy. “And you?”

“I’m friends with his sister. I mean… we’re friends too, but that’s it. Just friends,” the blonde stammered out.

Claudia turned to the final member of the quartet, only to see Dara’s focus roaming around the lobby while she strained to hear as much of the soft conversation Franklin exchanged with the two young women as possible. Following her gaze, she took in the collection of art that hung in the massive lobby.

Not that this hodgepodge could be called a collection, she thought. Who would display a Vermeer next to a Caravaggio?

It was clear that regardless of their captor's powers, they couldn’t summon any taste.

Claudia thought about moving over to the couch to get the bespectacled girl’s attention, only to find that she couldn’t get out of her seat. Sighing, she turned back to watch Franklin and her newest competition.

***

“My name is Ira Meeks, and I’m 19. I’m a college student at the University at Buffalo. I met 2BFr… Franklin online about 3 months ago, on a roleplay forum. I’m a virgin. Geeze, I can’t believe this.” The dark-haired girl was able to keep her composure thanks to Terra dialing up the calming effect, but it didn’t stop her from being embarrassed at having to admit her personal details for an apparent “crowd of millions” to watch.

Terra turned to the red-haired girl expectantly.

“I’m Kennedy Hart. I’m 22 years old and I’m a senior studying social work at Eastern Washington. I met Franklin last August when we started chatting on a fetish site after he commented on some story captions I posted. I’m a virgin too.”

“Well well, place your bets, everyone,” Terra mused. “Thank you, girls. Please go ahead and join the other contestants just over here.”

Ira turned to walk over while Kennedy lingered, seemingly hesitant to leave Franklin’s side. He placed his hand on her lower back and mouthed, “It’ll be OK.” With a firm nod, the pink-gowned girl joined Ira and Trudy on the couch on the far side of the seating area, leaving just the two seats next to Dara still empty.

Franklin turned back to Terra, “You didn’t change her back there, with your clipboard?”

Terra put on a serious face, “Just enough extra calm to stop her from having a panic attack or trying to push you down the stairs, Master Porter. Rest assured, when it’s time to make changes, there will be a lot more production involved. For now, we still have some lovely ladies to meet! Like a certain biddable companion who comes with quite the pedigree. Our next contestant gives us a bit more live action in our roleplay, and I’m sure she’s eager to come out and play.”

____________________________________________________________________________________

Last Wednesday

Pet knelt at her Master's feet, trying to keep her mind still as the pumping bass of Club Obsidian rang out. She liked to fight the pace of the music, always set to keep heartbeats racing, blood flowing, and inhibitions lowered. The black, glossy tiles of the floor were cool beneath her knees, a stark contrast to the heat she could feel emanating from the legs of the man she served. She closed her eyes, the cheap plastic of the dog ear headband she wore pressing against her temples.

Routh shifted in his leather armchair, the creak of expensive upholstery cutting through the music. "Eyes up, Pet."

Her gaze lifted, but not too high. Just to the polished leather of his shoes, the impeccable line of his suit trousers. She focused on the small, almost imperceptible scuff on the toe of his right oxford. The one he got kicking a filing cabinet a week ago when the merger documents weren't ready. When I made him wait. When I disappointed him.

"Good girl," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the soles of her feet and up her spine. He reached down, his fingers tangling in her hair, the short black strands with theatrical white streaks she'd added for this persona. His grip was firm, proprietary. "See? So much simpler when you don't think. Just be."

She tried. God, she tried. Let the static of the club wash over her, the murmur of other scenes, the crack of a whip in a distant alcove, the moan that was almost certainly staged for effect. Let it all become a meaningless hum. But the attorney in her, Adrienne Ainsleigh, was still there. She was cataloguing the details, the evidence. The way Routh's thumb stroked her scalp wasn't affectionate; it was a claim. The way he spoke to the bartender who approached their alcove wasn't friendly; it was a power play.

"Just a club soda for her," Routh said, dismissing the woman with a flick of his wrist. "She's had enough excitement for one night."

The humiliation was a familiar, complicated warmth blooming in her chest. The dark thrill of being seen in such a powerless state, shown off like a treasured possession, was the whole point. This was her escape. But tonight, the borders were blurring. The escape felt more like a cage. She could feel the panic starting to prickle at the edges of the carefully constructed silence in her mind. The panic of the junior associate who had stayed until two a.m. last night, rewriting a brief Routh had deemed "insufficiently aggressive." The panic of a woman who knew, with chilling certainty, that the man who held her leash was the same man who held her career in a fist.

The club soda arrived in a glass, condensation beading on the sides. Routh took it, placed it on the small table beside him, and ignored it. His attention was on the room, on acknowledging nods from other Doms, on the careful performance of his own power.

Pet kept her gaze down, her hands resting limply on her thighs. She focused on her breathing. In. Out. The rhythm of it, the control, was the only thing she had left in here. In this room, she wasn't Adrienne. Adrienne argued. Adrienne researched. Adrienne drafted counterarguments. Pet just was. Just existed. And for a few hours a week, that was enough. That was the relief she craved.

"I've been thinking," Routh continued, once the bartender had retreated. He released her hair and leaned back, steepling his fingers. "About our arrangement."

Adrienne’s stomach, already tight, coiled into a cold knot. She kept her head bowed. He promised. He swore he would keep the lines clean.

"This weekly night is... insufficient," he said, the words clipped and precise, like a closing argument. "I've come to enjoy your company outside of this context. I think we should explore that."

Her breath caught. No. No, you promised. The music suddenly seemed too loud, the room too hot. The fantasy was fraying at the edges, and beneath it was the terrifying reality of Routh, her boss, her mentor, the man who held her career in his hands, trying to merge their worlds.

"Adrienne," he said, and the use of her real name here, in this place, was like a slap. "Look at me."

She did, lifting her chin, meeting those cool grey eyes. She saw no concern there, only a mild curiosity, the same look he gave a junior associate when he was about to point out a flaw in their legal reasoning.

"We could be good together," he said. "You have ambition. I have... means. We could be a team in every sense."

It wasn't a proposal. It was a business proposition. A merger. And she was the asset he was trying to acquire. The warmth in her chest from the humiliation had curdled into something cold and leaden. The escape was gone. Her shakily built barriers were suddenly under attack.

She opened her mouth to say something, to protest, to remind him of their agreement, but the words wouldn't come. They were trapped behind a wall of fear and the deeply ingrained habit of obedience she was still, to her own horror, feeling. Her body was still in Pet mode, even as her mind was screaming in Adrienne's panic.

A shadow fell over their small alcove. "Routh. A word."

Lavinia. The owner of Club Obsidian. She moved through the club like a **** of nature, her presence immediately commanding respect. She was tall, with black hair up in an elegant chignon, and her eyes missed nothing. She wasn't looking at Routh. Her gaze was fixed on Pet, on the naked fear in Adrienne's eyes that she couldn't quite conceal.

Routh's expression tightened with irritation. He was a powerful man in his world, but Lavinia was a queen in hers. "Now isn't a good time, Lavinia."

"It's the perfect time," Lavinia said, her voice smooth as silk but with an undeniable steel beneath it. She gestured with her chin toward a private corridor. "My office."

It wasn't a request. Routh knew it. He let out a slow, deliberate sigh, the kind a man makes when he's been inconvenienced by something he can't control. He stood, straightening his suit jacket. "Stay," he said to Pet, the command sharp and automatic. "Do not move."

She didn't. She couldn't. Her knees were locked to the floor, her gaze fixed on the scuff on his shoe as he walked away. The music, the lights, the murmur of the club—it all faded into a dull roar in her ears. He's going to ruin me. The thought wasn't a panic anymore; it was a calm, terrifying certainty. He was going to blend the worlds, and when it inevitably blew up, it wouldn't just be her career. It would be her entire life. The thought of her family finding out, of her colleagues, of it somehow being leaked online... it was a kind of annihilation.

She looked out at the crowd, at the various tableaus playing out around her. A woman, blindfolded and bound to a St. Andrew's cross, arching her back as her partner drew lines of fire down her spine with a flogger. A man in a pristine collar and leash, polishing his Mistress's boots with a devotion that seemed almost holy. They all seemed so free in their submission, so chosen. But Adrienne felt the choice being squeezed from her, one possessive word at a time.

Her eyes caught a man at the bar, about her age, who had been chatting with the bartender. Both were now looking over at her, and instead of the playful curiosity, the poorly hidden desire, or even the subtle envy she was used to seeing from the club's patrons, she was struck by something too real for her fantasy of escape. They were watching her with concern. The bartender, a tall, well-toned woman with hair braided like a long whip, gave her a nod. An acknowledgement? An offer of rescue?

Adrienne felt a fresh wave of heat on her cheeks. The humiliation of being pitied was far more potent than the humiliation of being objectified. She quickly lowered her gaze, focusing back on the table where her club soda sat, melting, ignored. She wanted to reach for it, to feel the cold glass in her palm, but Routh's command held her in place.

Minutes stretched, each one an eternity. The bass thrummed through her bones. Then, Routh returned. He didn't look at her as he resumed his seat. He simply reached into his pocket, pulled out her leash—a simple, black leather affair—and clipped it onto the silver ring at the collar of her dress.

"We're leaving," he said, his voice flat, devoid of its earlier, playful cruelty. It was the tone he used at the office when he was disappointed. He gave the leash a gentle tug. "Heel."

The walk through the club was a blur of shame and relief. Relief that the night was over. Shame that she was leaving it like this, not because their scene had reached its natural conclusion, but because she was being pulled away like a naughty dog after a scolding. She kept her head down, the plastic dog ears feeling flimsy and ridiculous now.

____________________________________________________________________________________

“Oh, wow,” Franklin breathed out as the vision ended. He had seen the woman at Obsidian multiple times, as she was hard to miss while being shown off, but they had never spoken.

He had seen some secrets and intimate moments in the other visions, but this one felt more invasive. Adrienne’s life, outside of the fantasy of Obsidian, felt like forbidden ground, and knowing that she was struggling with boundaries left a pit in his stomach. Turning to Terra, he entreated, “Seriously? We’ve never actually spoken.”

“Fresh eyes and no baggage? Take it as the advantage it is. Besides, Master Porter, the concern you just showed puts you well in the lead of her previous owner.” With that, the Host turned and called to her latest charge, “Come on down, Pet. C’mere girl.” She patted her leg to drive the point home further.

Adrienne’s hand rose to her, almost automatically, in a gesture to check if her headband was in place. Feeling it missing, her expression turned to one of suspicion as she started marching down the stairs.

____________________________________________________________________________________

“Aw, poor Pet,” Vee sighed, “I was hoping for a bit more of a happy story for someone learning to love pet play.”

“Without the edge of the toxic relationship, the audience probably wouldn’t have voted for her,” explained his brother. “As I said, it’s all about fine-tuning. A sexy look, a little swipe at their collective hero complex, and you can get them to vote for what’s basically a mystery box.”

“Yeah, high-powered lawyer in training who specifically doesn’t want to be a full-time Pet? It’s gonna be a bit rough when the audience immediately wants to give her the ears and tail permanently.” The red Imp giggled, “Rough, heheh.”

Dee put on a wicked smile and said, “I do love a story that comes full circle. Adrienne was nearly willing to compromise her ideals for that lout Routh. Imagine what a few rounds at the Hotel will do for that temptation inside of her. How what seems like an escape can quickly turn into a trap all its own.”

Vee let his head loll back and sighed, before his face brightened and he countered, “Or, hear me out, dog girl lawyer! Guards her client’s rights, always sniffs out the truth, and goes after witnesses like a dog with a bone. Normalizing transformation effects have been done before.”

“Are you quite done?” Dee asked.

“We could call it… Law and Border… Collie.”

Dee stared at his brother. “Is that really the best that you could come up with?”

…

...

“I bet she’ll work pro bono.”

“What’s the next category, you imbecile?” Dee asked.

Vee rubbed his hands together, “A real spicy one! It’s finally time to decide if ol’ Franklin wants to keep a little love in the family.”

“Ah, yes. The initial poll and Master poll did indicate a certain portion of the readership was interested in such things, as much as I can’t see anyone ever enjoying the presence of their relatives,” Dee said, while pointedly staring at his brother.

“Hilarious. So, it’s my turn to pitch twice, right?” Vee asked as he prepared to summon his folders.

“That’s fine, I’ll only need the one,” Dee boasted.

“Whatever you say, bro. Well then, when we polled the audience, younger siblings beat out older siblings by just a bit, so we’ll start there.” The red Imp opened his first folder, and the image of a young, lazy-looking girl materialized in the air. She was reclining on a comfortable-looking couch in a tank top and pajama pants, playing games on a handheld console.

“Zelda Porter, Franklin’s younger half-sister from his father’s second marriage. Turns out Papa Porter wanted more than just the two kids, and Franklin’s Mom being adamant about being done after two was the last real nail in the coffin for that romance. A reminder to always communicate with your partner! Zelda is now 19 years old, attending a hybrid online college while still living at home, and enjoying as much time not having to actually work for a living as possible. She might look lazy, but she’s fairly sharp, studying computer science and programming. In short, a bit of a nerd. She might come to enjoy the gamified aspects of Harem Hotel.”

Dee raised an eyebrow, “Nominative determinism? I would have expected someone named after a video game character to rebel at her parents’ hideous taste.

Vee dismissed him with a laugh, “Nah, she dug it. Born on the same day that Twilight Princess was released and playing Breath of the Wild after middle school.”

Dee laughed, “Yikes, you’re going to make the audience feel awfully old talking like that. Though they might enjoy a good Damsel in Distress transformation.”

“Awfully regressive, bro. Video games can lead to all kinds of fun transformations,” replied the red Imp, casting an eye over to the shelf where an autographed copy of Harem Hotel: Homestay Edition sat in pride of place. Vee loved the visual novel and was even able to get a copy autographed by Sally herself, since he preordered!

“I’m sure, but why do by halves when the perfect option is already available?” Dee responded as he opened his folder, and the playful smile of a punk rock queen appeared next to the reclining girl. She shared Franklin’s spiky black hair and piercing blue eyes, and leaned against the counter of a tattoo parlor with her hands in the pockets of her torn jeans.

“Florence “Flo” Porter. We’ve already been treated to a bit of her through the backstory vignettes of other contestants. She’d walk on set with some already firmly established relationship dynamics with Dara and Trudy, which could give a nice jumpstart to some drama. She might have done a lot of teasing of her little bro while they were growing up, but they’ve always been close, and as she matured, Flo turned out to be quite the responsible woman, despite what her preferred aesthetic might lead you to believe. She is the owner and lead artist of the Dreams Ink tattoo parlor and is currently in between relationships after catching her ex cheating with her now former employee.”

“Ouch. That might hurt her outlook a bit if she’s asked to join a harem.” Vee thought a little more about it, “Although the whole brother thing might be a little tougher sell.”

“What better proof of the Master’s virility?” Dee asked. “That is the heart of the taboo nature of the fetish, isn’t it?”

“Beats me,” the red Imp replied, “I just enjoy hot folks getting it on. I do think we should probably offer up an option for those who aren’t interested and see what the majority ends up picking. I also liked your idea about the show benefiting from some pre-existing relationships, so I’ll just steal that idea!”

With that, he opened his second folder and displayed a young woman with platinum blonde hair, strolling past a row of stores with several shopping bags already in hand.

“Genevieve Haverbrook. Evie to her friends. As we saw in Trudy’s intro, she’s a sweet if spoiled young heiress with ties to the tomboy as well as Franklin himself. She was even the young lady that Franklin was strolling over to greet when we grabbed him for the season! She’d inject some wealth into the Harem straight away, which is always helpful for postseason considerations but should also provide a good contrast to our contestants with more humble backgrounds. She’s got the kind of naivety you’d expect from an 18-year-old rich girl, which should be super fun for Claudia, and give another younger gal for Ira and Kennedy to possibly bond with in an odd couple sort of way.”

“Doubling up on horse girls?” questioned the blue Imp. “I guess that’s one way to create competition.”

“She could go in a lot of other directions, too!” defended his crimson brother. “Rich girls make great maids. She’s young enough to pull off schoolgirl. She could become the Master’s Apprentice, learn all about his fetish for control, and become the Queen of the Harem. The possibilities are as wide as the audience’s imagination.”

“Well, we could always make her call the Master "Big Brother" for a little pseudo ****, I suppose,” Dee concluded, before turning to the camera to address the audience directly. “Vote at the link below for your favorite flavor of taboo.”

Vote Here for Contestant #8: Familial Relations

The Imps were not done, however.

“Yes, contestant number 8, thanks to the… tie,” Dee said, visibly pained at having to use the word.

Vee grimaced, “Our original plan was to present a couple of options for the last contestant spot, either holding one final vote amongst all of the unchosen contestants or presenting three final options in a ‘Wildcard’ category of particularly out there candidates.”

“But now that would make our cast a bit… overfull, especially at the start,” Dee explained. “So, we will make you an offer. We weren’t planning on having a guaranteed elimination at the end of the first round, but if you’d like to see one more contestant, we can arrange it. We will begin with nine contestants, but at the end of the first round, one will be removed from the Harem in order to get us back down to eight.”

The red Imp was quick to add, “Though the means of… elimination will also be up to the audience! No guarantee of a terrible fate, you could vote to simply send the contestant home if you really wanted to. With her first transformation still in place, of course.”

Dee steepled his fingers and grinned into the camera, “Personally, I rather like the idea of adding this extra element of competition to the proceedings, but of course, it’s ultimately up to you. Vote at the link below for how you wish to proceed. If the combined votes for a Second Chance Poll and a Wildcard Poll outnumber No Poll, we’ll go with whichever of the two earns the most votes.

“Otherwise, tune in next time for the introduction of our final contestant!” Vee cheered.

Vote Here for: One More?

Polls are now closed.