Bring it! You can't let that phone out of your sight!

With just seconds to make a decision, you find that your appreciable anxiety about letting the Rules of the World App out of your sight for even a short while wins out. You grab at your phone, but find your fingers **** to grip around it, instead merely batting it a few inches across the floor. What fresh hell is this? It's not enough that remaining 'in character' for Master- no, shit, you mean for Chad- means shuffling awkwardly across the floor on your hands and knees; apparently you can't even hold tools and objects either?

With no other option, you lift the device slightly with both hands and take it in your mouth, doing your best not to get it too wet. The last thing you need is to short it out. Then, dragging the cupboard door open, you crawl ridiculously through the bedroom doorway, skidding slightly on the wooden floor. Your cumbersome and sensitive breasts do you no favours either, swinging and wobbling in every direction with a chaotic momentum to match the speed at which you pathetically attempt to scramble towards the sound of your master's voice. As you approach, your face begins to burn with unbearable shame and embarrassment. You realize, though, that this asshole will probably just think you're flushed with arousal... So maybe he's half right, anyway.

You finally stop when you're at the feet of your master, and kneel for him with both hands squished against your breasts, held up in a mock imitation of paws. The sight of Chad brings about a warm, gooey feeling in your chest which it is hopeless to attempt to resist, and you wonder if it wouldn't be better to submit to this simple, happy life you've stumbled into. However, that last niggling doubt in the back of your mind still persists, and as you flutter your eyelids at him in adoration, you wonder how in the world you can hope to reconcile these two competing goals.

Chad notices immediately, of course, that you've brought him something, and he looks more than a little surprised and curious. Likewise, you notice that Chad is carrying gifts for you: from a white plastic bag in his left hand, he draws a bright pink collar with a bone-shaped dog tag inscribed with the words "Chad's Bitch", and on the back is the address for your... For Chad's apartment, presumably in case you should become lost somehow and need to be returned to him. He also has a plain leather leash which you can see poking out over the edge of the bag.

You're pretty sure there's something else in there, but for the moment he tosses the bag onto the nearby sofa so that, with both hands free, he can clasp the collar around your neck and tighten it to his liking. Your stomach churns in abject revulsion and horror, but your heart flutters in absolute delight and pride. Now everyone will know who you belong to; and even if you somehow wander off, you will always be returned home!

"What's that you've got there, girl? Is that for me?"

You hesitate and emit a muffled whine of confusion as your feminine instincts collide with your vivid memories of masculinity and real freedom, in a silent civil-war of wills. Chad probably doesn't notice the conflict raging behind your eyes, but holds out his hand below your chin and issues a command with the same clear diction and low tone of voice with which one would issue a command to a dog:

"Drop it." You spit the phone out, and with your mouth now free, begin panting. All this pet-play shit comes so naturally to you now, you feel like being sick. But... No, not really. You feel more like you should feel like being sick. Your inner **** to play along feels more like a residual sense of obligation to your former self, and to your remaining shreds of dignity and self-respect, than a choice you're actually making. It would be so easy to give into it, and you know you would feel so much better if you did... But you know you need to get that phone back, at the first chance you see.

"Goo~ood girl!" Chad gives you a cocky, contemptuous smirk. It's that same smirk that used to make you want to punch him hard in his stupid face (and God, how you wish you'd taken the chance at least once), but now it makes you swoon, and feel warm and fuzzy all over. Your eyes widen as Chad unceremoniously unzips his trousers and casually pulls out his cock, pumping it a couple of times to bring it to its full, impressive length and imposing width. A few days ago, you never would have thought you'd have to see it again, and never would have dreamed you would have to see it this close... Or how it would make you feel to finally do so. He slaps you playfully across the cheek with it, startling you with how hot the flesh is. He chuckles to himself, and waves it under your nose- and despite how much it kills you to be in this position, you can't lie to yourself about the fact that it just smells so good... You want to taste it... Please...

"Puppy want a treat?"

Treat?! Treat!! You lean forward and giddily begin lapping at his cock with your tongue, first with long strokes up the whole length of his shaft, and then, having experienced the first explosion of the peculiar and fulfilling taste across your palate, you ravenously explore the rest, leaving no exposed flesh without a glistening layer of your own drool coating it. Then, you take the head of your master's cock into your mouth, and begin messily attempting to fill as much of yourself with it as possible, indifferent to the momentary gagging brought on by your own over-eagerness. Wet, lurid noises fill the room as you lose yourself in your desire. Whatever you were so worried about a minute ago fades as you relish the utter contentment of servicing your beloved master and his thick, throbbing cock.

For his part, Chad is content to leave you to it as he investigates the curio in his hand.