Your punishment

Your father stands in front of the two of you. He puts down his briefcase on the floor next to him and crosses his arms. He cuts a very imposing figure, and if you're honest with yourself, you'd admit that you go after guys who remind you of him, guys who can protect you and provide for you like your father has all these years.

"I don't even know where to begin. I don't really care what the two of you," he says, gesturing between you and Christina, "do together when you're alone. You can stick cucumbers into your cunts while painting each other's nails. I don't care if you're a lesbian or bi or whatever.

"But showing yourself off like that? In front of someone you've just met? An employee of my company, someone who works for people who work for me? Do you know what I just had to go through up there?" You can tell he's simmering with barely-controlled rage. That's the kind of man your father is: all control, all the time. He has never once lashed out, never hit you or your mother (back when she lived with you). He hasn't even thrown things. But he has always, always, found a punishment that fits the crime. Not that it's stopped you from pushing his buttons again and again--you've just learned to take your lumps and move on.

He looks at you. "Well? Got anything to say for yourself?"

"I should think it's pretty obvious, Dad. You brought us here. You could have let me stay back home with my friends while you went on this island getaway. It's not like we're even spending time together here. So don't act all surprised that Christina and I went off looking for trouble and found some."

He doesn't reply right away. He looks like he is thinking, and for a moment you wonder if you've actually managed to change his mind. Then the storm clouds roll across his face again, and you know you never had a chance.

"You're right, Ally," he says. "I don't spend enough time with you, and that's going to change. But you've definitely demonstrated I made the right call bringing you with me. I clearly can't let you walk around unsupervised."

He sets down his briefcase on the coffee table and flips it open, its top obscuring the contents from your view. From the case he removes what looks like a dog's collar, albeit slightly slimmer. It sparkles with fake jewels. A tiny nametag dangles from the front. The dim light makes it hard to read, but if you squint you can just about make it out: it says "Ally."

"You've acted like a bitch for long enough and gotten away with it. Well, from now on you're going to get to be a bitch, full-time." Before you can react, he moves forward and grabs you by the arm. Caught off guard, you struggle in vain against his grip. He holds you against his body with one arm and deftly slips the collar around your neck.

You hear the clasp click and feel the tight fabric around your throat. It's not too bad, actually--you've worn tighter chokers. Your father lets you go, and you collapse to the floor, tears already streaming from your eyes. "What the fuck, Daddy?!" You scramble back onto the couch, only for your father to grab you by the collar and toss you to the ground again.

"No dogs on the furniture," he says.

You look up at him and whimper. "What the hell?" Christina watches in stunned silence, not sure how to react or whether helping you would actually hurt in the long run.

"It's time you learn the consequences of your actions. Act like a bitch, be a bitch." He smiles. "You're not wearing just any old collar. It's the latest in our line of Obedience! sex toys. The inner surface of the collar is coated with a substance that has some remarkable properties. First, in a couple of minutes you won't be able to speak. It'll swell up your vocal cords until all you can do is make the most basic of noises--just like an animal. Then, it releases hormones that get absorbed through your skin into the bloodstream. This is much slower-acting. But once the hormones take effect, that's wear the real fun begins. Your body will go into heat, like a real bitch, and you'll start itching to be taken, over and over again. You'll start to feel more subservient, more naturally obedient, ready to follow the orders of men and your master." He leans forward, his face now very close to yours. "Me."

He stands back up. "For the rest of our time on this island, you are going to be an obedient dog, and I'm going to be your loving master. You wanted to spend time together? I'll take you for walks along the beach; you'll get to feel the sand between those paws of yours. We'll play fetch. You'll eat from a dog bowl, piss and shit outside like a real dog, and follow my commands to the letter.

"If you do well, then I'll consider taking the collar off before we go back home. If you fight me ... well, to be honest, the company scientists will be very eager to find out what the effects of wearing the Obedience! collar for such a long time might be."

You know that he's dead serious about this plan, and that there will be no dissuading him from following it. If you don't obey him, don't act like his little bitch, then he'll just keep the collar on you forever. The company has the resources to fly you back to California without anyone batting an eye at the collared girl. You don't know if he's right about the hormones, but you know he thinks he's right--he would never lie about something like that.

You're in trouble.

You're getting wet.

Your father turns now to Christina, who hasn't said a word. "Christina, you're a good girl. Your parents haven't failed like I apparently have. And you're not my child, so I don't really think it's appropriate to punish you so severely. But you did go along with Ally, and I promised your parents that while you're here, I would look after you. So the duty of punishment does fall on me." He reaches back into the briefcase, this time taking out two collars. One is identical to the Obedience! collar you wear, except that the nametag says "Christina." The other is thinner, black and blue instead of red and gold like yours, and could even be mistaken for an ordinary choker. It has no nametag.

"I'll give you a choice." He holds up the Obedience! collar. "Same punishment as Ally. Or," he holds up the other collar, "you can become my personal assistant. You'll wear a collar all the same, but you'll also get to wear some clothes--not much, but more than what that bikini is covering right now. You'll take notes for me, cook for me, clean up, and of course, look after the Bitch over there. Oh, and you'll fuck me. But I'll treat you nicely, not like an animal."

Christina takes in a deep breath. You don't envy her the choice, and you wonder if you'd blame her for taking the easier option. But then again, she's your best friend. She's supposed to stick with you, right?