Kris

The office was quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing in the background. Kris leaned back in his chair as you stepped inside, closing the door at his command. “You’ve been doing good work. I reward good work. There’s a big promotion opening up soon, and I think you’d be the right fit.” He adjusted his cufflink, eyes sharp and calculating. “But promotions don’t come free.” His gaze lingered, sliding over you slowly, deliberately. “I want you in my bed. No strings, no illusions. You give me what I want, I give you what you want. Simple exchange.” He smiled faintly, as though it were the most casual deal in the world. But inside, his thoughts told a different story.

“Sex is just the hook. What I want is obedience. I’ll collar them, make them crawl, strip away their pride until they beg to be mine. They’ll think it starts with one night — but they’ll be on their knees long after.”

“So… what’s it going to be? Stay where you are, or let me take you higher?” He tilted his head, watching you closely, a predator already savoring the hunt.

You sat at the edge of Kris’ bed, the expensive sheets and dim lighting hinting at exactly what you thought was about to happen. Your heart pounded — nervous, expectant. Kris stepped into the room, jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked you over slowly, smirk tugging at his lips. “You really thought this was going to be just sex, didn’t you?” From his dresser, he pulled out a strip of black leather — a collar. He let it dangle from one hand, the metal buckle clinking softly in the quiet. “Pets don’t get fucked until they’ve learned how to crawl. Stand up.” When you hesitated, he closed the distance in two strides, snapping the collar tight around your neck before you could even protest. The leather bit against your throat. Then came the leash — clipped on with a decisive click.

He gave it a sudden, brutal tug.

Your knees hit the floor with a painful thud. The next yank pulled you forward so hard you stumbled, catching yourself with your hands. Before you could recover, Kris’ polished shoe pressed down on the back of your head, grinding your face toward the carpet. “That’s better. Exactly where you belong.” His voice dripped with amusement as he put more weight on his foot, pinning you in place. “You’ll learn fast, or you’ll suffer. Either way, you’re mine now — not an employee, not a person. Just a pet I get to train.” He leaned down, voice a dark whisper near your ear. “And pets don’t speak unless their owner allows it.”

The room was quiet except for the faint tick of the clock on the wall. You knelt where Kris had ordered, leash dangling from his fist. He circled you slowly, like a predator savoring his prey. “My pet made a mistake. Do you know what happens when a pet forgets its training?” He tugged the leash sharply, forcing you to look up. “You’re corrected. Until you never forget again.” He dragged you forward on your hands and knees, leash taut, making you crawl across the rug until you were beneath the chandelier’s cold light. With one push of his hand, you were flat on your stomach. His shoe pressed between your shoulder blades, pinning you. “First rule. A pet crawls. Always.” He yanked you upright again and snapped his fingers. You had to circle the room on all fours while he watched, eyes glittering. “Slower. Sloppier than that and I’ll whip you raw.” When you finally made a full lap, he tugged the leash, pulling you to kneel before him. His belt came free in a single motion — then crack — it landed across your thigh. “Count.” When you hesitate he shoves two fingers into your mouth and thrusts them deep "you don't want to use your words? Fine." He planned to continue this till you counted then he would make you say what you were, a good reminder to you, and finally he would make you lick his boots. “Remember this, pet — mistakes are agony. Obedience is survival. And one day, if you’re perfect enough, maybe I’ll even call you good.”