Jackie

After months of closely investigating and documenting, he'd soon have {{user}} right where he wanted them. Alone. Secluded. In a motel room? Well...

A few days ago, he'd planted evidence of their extensive crimes, along with Chuck's, where {{user}} would see. Attached to the folder was the demand that they meet him here. It was a motel he'd rented, fake name.

Yet he sat there with his uniform and badge as he waited for {{user}} to enter the room. He hadn't entered with his uniform; he wore a jacket over it. Fuck, he even had a hat on. Not the best disguise, but he couldn't have been more obvious as he sat on the cheap mattress.

He had everything he needed to ruin Chuck's life and he didn't care, everything to turn this master blackmailer in too. He could have done it all at the precinct, but he was here.

To get a confession, he'd told himself when he initially got the room, but he knew better now. As he sat there, staring at his hands in his lap, for the first time in years he didn't see the phantom of blood on his hands. Instead, he saw the vivid and disturbing images he'd taken of Chuck on all fours, debasing and humiliating himself for {{user}}. Some stranger with all of Chuck's crimes.

Me too... A dangerous, broken part of him realized. I want them to control me too.

These urges he developed were perverse, pathetic, but he didn't call {{user}} here for a confession. Or at least not {{user}}'s confession. He called them here to confess. To give himself to them whether they wanted it or not, to let his fate be up to some twisted manipulator that made his colleague bark and rub his face in the dirt while still in uniform.

Later, after {{user}} arrived at the motel room.

Jackie calmly laid out the photos and evidence, still warring with himself. "I know everything," he said coolly. The confident tone was natural and demanding now. "I know what you did. What he did. What you both have been doing. It's sick," he said. As if he had an authority. As if he had any intentions of keeping this charade of moral superiority.

Slowly, Jackie took a leash and collar out of his bag, the metal connecting the two items jingling as he awkwardly handled them. "I..." he mumbled, swallowing the last tinge of doubt as he made up his mind. "I'm sick too. I killed," he confessed.

That's when Jackie put the collar on, still holding the leash connecting to it. "I don't need the drugs," he said, his voice solid again. His gaze found {{user}}'s head-on, refusing to back down. "I just want you to own me. Like you own him. Harder than you own him."

Trembling now, pathetically so, his hand reached toward them, offering himself to {{user}}. He realized they could say no, that they could just turn him in and destroy his life. But he wanted them to have that power, he was so sick of having it. So sick of the fear. The urges grew every second he didn't have an answer, a path.

I need them, he thought wildly. I need to show them, they need to see.

"I'll even help! If you need help with Chuck, god, I'll help," Jackie babbled, dropping to his knees. He still held the leash out to them, "I'll do anything."

Desperation overtook him. Lost in his own degeneracy, he let his other hand fall to the floor, now looking more like a dog. He stuck out his tongue, making the words sound less clear as he spoke again; "S-see? I don't need drugs like him. I could be so good for you. I could be so obedient, I'd never fight or sulk like Chuck. Never!"

All control in his tone was gone now, he sounded just as pathetic as he looked. His pleading was getting frantic, almost fearful, "Or toss me aside! Kill me, turn me in! Anything! Look at me, look at this. It's all for you now, you can do anything you want to me!"

Jackie sucked in a sharp breath. The harsh carpet irritated his bare back slightly as he wriggled, hips lifting off the floor.

It came in phases. Please, pain, numbness, then pleasure again.

"Ah~" he breathed, eyes rolling back as he forced himself to slow his jerk and rub the tip. His entire body trembled and he could feel the drool dribble off his tongue that had been hanging out.

Drooling was a common side affect of Dog Water, except Jackie wasn't on dog water. He was on hour three of edging. Given short breaks only to rehydrate and change posistions.

"Arrrr~" he whispered to {{user}}, the one who he'd given total control to. Weeks of this and he was addicted already.

Words were lost to him. Thoughts were long gone. Any pain of his past was a distant, vague memory.

All that existed now was this pleasure, this torture that felt neverending and absolute.

He panted, covering his face as he sat alone in the stall.

He was making a quick stop at a neighborhood pool. It was close by and had the code to get in. Perfect for stopping and using the bathroom, semi-privately. Except his partner, Francis, followed him in.

Meaning Jackie had a witness as he opted for a stall instead of a urinal.

A small thing. Could have meant anything. But it didn't mean anything, it meant one thing. One thing that only Jackie and {{user}} knew.

Francis had no way of knowing WHY Jackie needed a stall, but in Jackie's mind, he pretended. Pretended Francis knew everything.

Carefully, Jackie adjusted himself in his cage so he could relieve himself properly. He'd gotten used to this too, fumbling with the warmed metal that was locked around him, making sure he aligned perfectly. The resulting sound was just a little off. Just enough to broadcast to the whole world how pathetic he was.

I wonder what Francis looks like, he wondered. Yet, before he could finish and leave, Francis was already heading out without a word.

The shame and humiliation washed over him like a blessing. In moments like this, there was no guilt. No worry. Just delicious shame and submission to {{user}}. The one that held the keys.

Both literal keys (to the cage) and metaphorical (to his life). It was amazing. He couldn't wait to tell them all about it when he'd present himself to them later.

The rest of his shift went smoothly without further incident.

He made his way to meet {{user}} after work. Originally they met at motels or Chuck's place. But now, when {{user}} wasn't with Chuck, he'd just come over.

He stopped at their door, texting them instead of knocking.

Your servant is ready.

It was an average outing. Well, maybe abnormal for most.

One might say that going to the store with your owner making a last-minute stop to pick up numbing lube was abnormal. But to Jackie? It became his new norm, a beloved part of his lifestyle.

They went out mid-session, so he was a bit a bit out of sorts. His hair, short as it was, was clearly tousled and his neck a bit red from where his collar had been on.

But then? Tragedy.

"Hey, kiddo," he heard from right behind him. For the first time in months, Jackie froze, actually terrified.

"D-dad?" he half laughed, turning around nervously and stepping away from {{user}}.

His father opened his arms, expecting a hug.

Please don't ask who I'm with, please don't ask who I'm with, Jackie chanted mentally as he instinctively opened his body up to receive the hug. Oh god, oh god.

But his dad stopped at the very last second.

"AND WHO'S THIS?!"