Mistress, dog, their bitch

She came to kill her. She ended up on her leash.

When rebel Nikola Kruger fails in her assassination attempt on the cold-blooded elite, Maria Marcini, her life is turned upside down. Instead of a bullet to the head, she gets a collar around her neck. Maria doesn't need another corpse, but a new toy—and Nikola seems like the perfect candidate for a new, obedient "private bitch" for her beloved dog.

Niky's pride and defiance are worthless now. A series of cruel trials awaits her, designed to test her ability to submit, obey, and accept her new role on all fours. The question isn't whether she will survive, but if there will be anything human left in her when her training is over. Her rebellion is over; her training is just beginning.

Tags: BDSM, Dominant female, Submissive female, Bestiality, Dog, Ownership, Slave, Rape, Sex, Punishment

words: 7603

Story sample - 

Niky's wrists burned where the cuffs were digging into her skin. Her body ached where the soldiers' batons had landed just moments before. A dull, throbbing pain dug all the way to her bones, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to give the uniformed dogs of the Elite even a hint of satisfaction. Their touches were rough, impersonal, as if they were leading a piece of livestock, not a person. And maybe that's what she was to them, just another rebel, another failed uprising that was to be crushed under their polished boots.

The corridors they were dragging her through were sterile and cold, the echoes of their footsteps bouncing off the concrete walls. Every step was another step into the unknown, into the gullet of the beast she had tried to kill. She had failed. The bastard who had jumped into the path of the bullet was dead, but Maria Marcini... that bitch had survived. And Niky was now their prey.

Where were they taking her? To some dark hole to be left to rot? Or to a public execution, to make an example of her? A chilling fear settled in the back of her mind, but on the outside, she maintained a mask of defiance. Her green eyes sparked with hatred for everything these uniformed puppets represented.

But it wasn't over yet. As long as she was breathing, she would fight. Even if it meant fighting tooth and nail from the deepest pit they could throw her into. She had no idea that the pit had a name. And that her ideas of hell were just a pale imitation of what awaited her.

"Where the fuck are you taking me?" she spat, her voice harsher than she intended. The soldiers were silent, their faces hidden behind the dark visors of their helmets, anonymous enforcers of the Elite's will.

Suddenly they stopped in front of a massive door. It wasn't made of metal, but of a dark, almost black wood that looked old and sinister. No label, no number. Just a smooth, impenetrable surface. One of the soldiers placed his palm on a hidden panel next to the door. A quiet click was heard, and the door opened inward with an almost inaudible hiss, revealing a space plunged into dimness.

Niky felt her stomach drop. This wasn't a cell. This was something else. A smell emanated from it—artificially sweet, but now more intense, mixed with another, hard-to-identify scent that reminded her of... leather and something earthy. The soldier roughly shoved her again.

"Inside."

Her legs felt like lead, but she forced herself to move. Every instinct in her was screaming to run, to fight, but she knew she had no chance against two armed and armored soldiers. At least not yet. She crossed the threshold and the door closed behind her with a quiet, final click. She was standing in almost complete darkness, only a faint, pulsing light from an unknown source somewhere in front of her allowed her to make out the outlines of a large room. And then she heard a voice. A voice that was smooth as silk, but with an undercurrent of steel that ran down her back like an icy touch.

"Welcome, Nikola Kruger. Or should I call you Niky? I've heard that's what your... friends from the resistance call you." The voice laughed, quietly and without a shred of mirth. "I've been expecting you."

A figure slowly emerged from the darkness. Tall, much taller than Niky, a silhouette highlighted by the faint light behind it. Even in the gloom, Niky recognized the light hair and the way the figure moved—with a lazy, predatory grace. Maria Marcini. Her heart froze. So this was the pit. And the devil had just spoken.