Dago allowed her only a brief pause. Barely the time to catch her breath, to register the tremor still running through her body, before his hand closed around her again and guided her downwards. Not violently, not with haste, but with a firmness that left no room for misunderstanding. Ashley sank to her knees almost instinctively, her body responding before her mind had fully caught up.
The floor was cool beneath her palms. The contrast with the heat still pulsing between her thighs made her shiver. She felt exposed in a way that went beyond nakedness, aware of every line of her posture, every subtle shift of weight. Dago stood in front of her, close enough that she could sense him without seeing him clearly.
“Clean it properly,” he said.
His voice was flat, stripped of inflection, and for that very reason, absolute. It was not a request. It was not said to provoke. It was a simple instruction, delivered with the certainty of someone who expects obedience as a matter of fact.
She did not hesitate.
Her lips parted and closed around him, the taste immediate and overwhelming. The flavour was raw, unmistakable, carrying traces of everything that had just happened between them. Cum, sweat, her own arousal. The intimacy of it made her stomach tighten. There was no gentleness in the way he held her head now. His hand threaded into her hair, not pulling, not pushing, but controlling the depth and rhythm with quiet precision.
He guided her movements, pressing her just far enough to make her throat protest, then easing back, then forward again. The cadence was deliberate, measured, as though he were calibrating her response rather than seeking his own release.
Ashley felt herself growing wetter with every second. The sensation was almost embarrassing in its intensity. She could feel her arousal running down her inner thighs, warm and uncontrollable, pooling beneath her knees. She did not try to stop it. She no longer knew how.
She lifted her gaze to him, her mouth full, her eyes dark and unfocused. There was something in her expression that surprised her when she later tried to recall it. Not hunger. Not defiance. Something closer to devotion, stripped of romance, born purely of surrender.
When he finally withdrew from her mouth, the absence was as sharp as the contact had been. He stepped back, composed himself with a calm that bordered on clinical, and fastened his trousers. The sound of the zip closing felt final, almost jarring.
“Don’t move,” he said.
The words settled over her like a weight. She remained exactly where she was, on all fours, her muscles trembling from the effort of stillness, her breathing shallow and uneven. She heard his footsteps move away, each one stretching the moment further, turning waiting into its own form of tension.
Time lost shape.
Then she heard it. A faint metallic sound. Controlled. Intentional.
She felt his fingers brush the back of her neck and instinctively lowered her head, unsure why, only that it felt right. Something cool touched her skin. A band. A collar.
The realisation hit her with a force that stole her breath.
He fastened it carefully, adjusting it with practised hands. The click of the closure echoed inside her far more loudly than it should have. With that single gesture, something shifted deep within her. A line was crossed, clean and irreversible.
She was no longer simply participating.
She was being defined.
The collar sat firmly against her throat, neither tight nor loose, its presence impossible to ignore. Ashley swallowed and felt it shift slightly against her skin, a small movement that sent an unexpected shiver through her body. She remained still, obeying the order without effort, as though the possibility of disobedience had quietly evaporated.
Dago did not speak immediately. He let the silence stretch, heavy and deliberate, allowing the weight of what he had just done to settle into her awareness. She could hear him moving behind her, the soft sounds of drawers opening, objects being handled with care. Each noise sharpened her anticipation.
Something brushed her hair.
At first, she thought it was his hand, but the texture was wrong. Softer. Lighter. He gathered her hair back with unhurried movements, securing it away from her face. She felt the pressure of a band being placed, adjusted, and tightened just enough to hold. She did not yet understand its meaning, only that it altered the way she felt, the way her head was held, the way she was being arranged.
Then his hand returned to her lower back.
It rested there for a moment, warm and steady, before sliding down to her arse. His fingers spread her gently, not forcing, not rushing, simply claiming access. Ashley’s breath caught as she felt the cool touch of something unfamiliar pressing against her.
Bigger.
That was her first coherent thought.
The plug was larger than the one she had worn herself. Thicker. Heavier. Its presence alone was enough to make her tense instinctively. Dago did not push. He waited. His hand remained there, applying only the slightest pressure, giving her body time to respond.
She realised with a flush of heat that she was already opening for him.
Her arousal had never truly subsided since she had entered the house. It had only changed shape, shifting from urgency to readiness, from hunger to availability. Her body yielded gradually, almost eagerly, accepting the intrusion with a soft, involuntary sound that escaped her throat.
He worked the plug into her with methodical patience, pausing whenever her muscles tightened, resuming only when she relaxed again. There was no force in the act, no struggle. Just inevitability.
Once it was fully seated, its weight settled inside her, filling her completely. She became acutely aware of it with every breath, every small movement. It held her open, present, unable to forget herself even for a moment.
Before she could adjust to the sensation, something else touched her thighs.
Soft. Silken.
It brushed against her skin with each shift of her body, a teasing, unfamiliar contact that made her shudder. She felt him adjusting whatever it was, positioning it carefully, ensuring it would move with her.
Then his fingers slid between her legs.
The penetration was almost mundane in comparison to everything else. Her body accepted him instantly, slick and open, as though she had been waiting for this particular intrusion. She barely registered the sensation of him entering her pussy, so focused was she on the overwhelming fullness behind.
Her body betrayed her completely.
She was wet beyond anything she had experienced before, her arousal continuous, unbroken, as though something inside her had been switched on and left that way. From the moment she had crossed the threshold of the house, her body had ceased to negotiate. It simply responded.
Dago withdrew his fingers slowly, then stood.
She felt the lightest tug at her collar.
“Up,” he said.
Ashley obeyed without hesitation, shifting forward onto her hands and knees again, adjusting instinctively to the weight inside her and the strange new sensations brushing her thighs. Only then did she feel the final addition.
Metal.
She heard the click before she felt the pull.
A leash.
He clipped it to the ring at the front of her collar with a decisive movement that left no room for interpretation.
“Until I tell you otherwise,” he said calmly, “you’ll move like this.”
The leash tightened just enough to draw her attention upward.
“You’ll walk on all fours.”
A pause.
“You’ll be my bitch in heat.”
The words slid into her mind with terrifying ease. They did not shock her. They did not provoke resistance. They simply settled, finding a place that felt disturbingly prepared to receive them.
He guided her forward with a light tension on the leash. Not a pull. Not a jerk. Just enough to indicate direction. Ashley moved instinctively, her palms sliding over the floor, her knees following, her body adapting to the posture with a disturbing naturalness. The collar anchored her movements. The leash gave them meaning.
Every shift caused the plug to press and move inside her, a constant reminder of her condition. The soft brush against her thighs returned with each step, teasing, persistent, turning motion itself into stimulation. She became aware of the way her body occupied space now, lower, exposed, arranged for viewing rather than for dignity.
They stopped in front of a mirror.
She recognised it only after a second, when her reflection came into focus. The image struck her harder than any touch. She froze, breath caught in her chest, confronted with a version of herself she had never truly imagined, yet somehow always known.
On all fours.
Collar, tight around her throat.
Leash hanging from it like a declaration.
Her hair pulled back, framed by something that now revealed its purpose, something animal, something intentionally degrading.
She barely recognised her own face.
Her eyes were wide, dark, unfocused. Her mouth hung slightly open, lips parted as she breathed. Her posture was wrong for a woman, wrong for the life she lived outside those walls. The plug lifted her hips subtly, accentuating the curve of her arse, presenting her body without ambiguity.
“Look,” Dago said quietly.
She did.
The word carried no cruelty. It carried intention.
He crouched beside her, close enough that she could feel his presence without his touching her. In the mirror, his reflection doubled him, placed him everywhere at once. Larger. Inescapable.
“This,” he said evenly, “is what you came here for.”
He lifted the leash just enough to raise her chin, forcing her gaze higher, aligning her eyes fully with the image in the glass.
“Not the fucking. Not the pain.”
A pause.
“This.”
The word landed with terrifying precision.
“The moment you stop pretending you’re something else.”
Ashley felt the meaning seep into her slowly, bypassing her thoughts and settling directly into her body. This was not about humiliation. It was about recognition. About being seen exactly as she was in that moment, stripped of negotiation, stripped of performance.
He released the leash and moved behind her.
His hands traced her back, not caressing, not claiming. Mapping. Fingers following the line of her spine, pausing at its base, pressing there with deliberate pressure. The plug responded instantly, shifting inside her, sending a ripple of sensation through her belly.
A low sound escaped her throat before she could stop it.
“Good,” he murmured.
Not praise. Observation.
He circled her slowly, making sure she saw herself from every angle in the mirror as he moved. Each step reinforced the truth he was constructing. She was not being acted upon.
She was becoming.
He stopped in front of her again and met her eyes in the reflection.
“You don’t need to perform,” he said calmly. “You don’t need to please me.”
Another pause.
“You only need to exist like this.”
The leash tightened slightly. Not to pull her forward, but to prevent retreat.
Ashley felt something loosen inside her. Not fear. Not resistance. Identity. The woman who decided, who curated herself carefully for the world, receded quietly, like a tide pulling back from shore.
What remained was simpler. Raw. Honest.
Her breathing deepened. Slowed.
He watched the change with the patience of someone who knew exactly what he was waiting for.
He did not rush her. He let the silence do its work, stretching it until it became part of the transformation itself. Ashley remained on all fours before the mirror, her reflection no longer a shock but a presence she could not look away from. The posture began to feel less imposed and more assumed, as though her body were slowly aligning with an inner truth it had long concealed.
Dago straightened and took a step back, the leash slackening but not disappearing. The absence of tension was almost disorienting. Without the pull, she became acutely aware of her own balance, of the way she held herself, of the quiet effort required to remain exactly as she was.
“Stay,” he said.
The word did not feel like a test. It felt like confirmation.
He moved away from her, deliberately leaving her alone with her reflection. She could hear him somewhere behind her, the faint sounds of movement, of preparation, but she did not turn her head. Her gaze remained fixed on the image in the glass.
She noticed details she had missed before.
The way the collar framed her neck, not choking, but defining.
The way her shoulders had relaxed, no longer pulled back in habitual composure.
The subtle sway of her body as she breathed, the way her hips tilted without conscious intent.
The plug asserted itself with every small shift, not painfully, but insistently, a constant internal pressure that kept her aware of herself from the inside out. The soft brush against her thighs returned, stroking her with each movement, a reminder that even stillness now carried sensation.
Her thoughts slowed.
Not vanished, but softened, losing their edges. She was no longer analysing what this meant, no longer cataloguing emotions. She was simply inhabiting them.
Dago returned and stood behind her once more. This time he did not touch her immediately. His presence alone altered the space, made it denser, charged. She felt him watching her, assessing not her body, but her state.
“You see it now,” he said quietly.
It was not a question.
She swallowed, her throat tightening slightly against the collar. The movement sent another ripple through her body, subtle but undeniable.
“Yes,” she said.
The word came out softer than she expected. Not weak. Stripped.
He reached down and gathered the leash again, looping it once around his hand. The gesture was unhurried, almost absent-minded, and precisely for that reason deeply unsettling.
“This isn’t about what you do for me,” he continued. “It’s about what you stop doing for yourself.”
He gave the leash a slight pull, not enough to move her, just enough to remind her of its function.
“You stop holding yourself up. You stop explaining. You stop performing.”
Ashley felt the truth of it settle in her bones. The effort she had carried for years, the constant negotiation of who she was meant to be, loosened its grip. The relief was unexpected. Almost frightening in its depth.
Her body responded before her mind could intervene. Her back curved more naturally. Her head lowered a fraction. The posture was no longer maintained. It was inhabited.
Dago released the leash again.
“Good,” he said.
Again, not approval. Recognition.
He waited a little longer, allowing the new balance to settle fully into her body. Ashley remained still, her breathing steady, her posture no longer something she maintained but something she inhabited naturally. The mirror no longer felt like a confrontation. It felt like confirmation.
Dago moved behind her one last time. This time his hands rested briefly on her hips, not to adjust, not to guide, but to acknowledge the change that had taken place. The touch was restrained, almost ceremonial.
“That’s enough for now,” he said quietly.
The words did not break the spell. They sealed it.
He unclipped the leash from her collar and let it fall to the floor. The sound was small, almost insignificant, yet it echoed inside her more loudly than the click that had fastened it earlier. The absence felt heavier than the presence had been.
“You’ll keep the collar on,” he added. “Not for me. For yourself.”
He stepped away, giving her space, time. Ashley slowly shifted her weight, testing the return of movement without instruction. She remained on all fours for a moment longer, not because she had been told to, but because standing felt premature, almost unnecessary.
When she finally rose, she did so without urgency. The plug was still inside her. The soft brush against her thighs remained. The awareness did not fade. It stayed with her, settled, integrated.
She looked at herself once more in the mirror.
The woman staring back was not broken. Not diminished. She was quieter. More contained. Something essential had been stripped away, leaving behind a version of herself that felt unarguably real.
This night had not been about excess.
It had not been about transgression.
It had been about crossing a threshold.
Ashley understood, with a clarity that surprised her, that this was not an ending. It was a beginning she would carry back into the world with her. Invisible to others. Irreversible to herself.
The metamorphosis was complete.
