A Vacation Ch. 01

I'm scrubbing the living room floor when her footsteps stop beside me.

"Puppy." She sets a folded sheet of paper on the coffee table, next to the laptop, and puts my credit card on top of it. "I need you to make some bookings today for our vacation. Details are on the paper. Take care of them once you're done scrubbing the floor."

I nod. "Yes, Mistress."

She turns to go, then glances back. "Don't enjoy it too much, puppy." A small smile. "We both know what a beta cuck you are."

She leaves. When I finish the floor, I wipe my hands and unfold the page.

I read it through once, and my face flushes red. Then I open the laptop and start with the flights.

I go to the airline's website and enter the destination and dates. Two first class tickets for her and Mike, one economy ticket for me. Her sadism isn't done with the economy ticket alone. The paper specifies the middle seat in the last row, beside the toilets, where the seat doesn't even recline.

On the seat map, her window seat in first class, Mike beside her at the front. Mine is the middle seat of the last row. I select it myself. My finger hovers over the confirm button. Then I press it, and my cock strains against its cage, and my heart pounds.

As I move on to the hotel, I realize she could easily have done this herself. But then I would have missed the chance to take part in my own humiliation, to seal my own fate with every click. She knows me too well.

An executive suite at a five-star hotel, for two. I make the booking in her name and add one guest with her. Then a hostel a few streets away, a bed in a shared room, for one. The paper doesn't say who is staying where, but it's obvious.

Then the dinner reservation with a view, the couples' massage, champagne on arrival, all on my card, all under their names.

Last come the attractions. One of them is a sunset viewpoint on the cliffs. I stood there once, years ago, her hand in mine, before any of this began. I specifically remember she wore my jacket because she was feeling a bit chilly. Now I book it for two again, exactly like I did then. There is a small change, though, which the form doesn't show, and it makes all the difference.

The rest are the same. Each asks for the number of visitors. I enter two, again and again, and never get to enter three.

At the bottom of the page, there are two last lines: order a new credit card with a low spending limit, and a basic phone with a plan for incoming calls and texts both ways.

I read it twice. Then I order both.

By the time I'm done with every booking, I'm leaking into my cage, and my hands are shaking.

For the next two weeks, the house fills with plans I'm not part of. I carry in the shopping bags and fold their new clothes while they spread the itineraries across the coffee table and decide which dress for which dinner. Now and then she asks without looking up, "Puppy, what time is the sunset at the cliffs?" I answer. Neither of them even glances at me. I might as well be Google.

My clothes are in the guest room wardrobe, and she keeps it locked. I fold the last of their clothes and wonder what I'll wear on the trip. But I never find the courage to ask.

On the morning of the flight, I hear a key in the front door before I've finished folding the last towel. Mike doesn't knock anymore. He has his own key now.

He walks in carrying an old duffel bag by one strap. The canvas has faded to a dull gray, and one corner is slightly frayed. He doesn't look at me. He drops the bag outside the bedroom door. Then he goes in, and the door closes behind him.

I kneel in the living room, naked except for my collar, the cage, and the plug, hands behind my back, facing the closed door.

Through the door, I hear drawers sliding, a suitcase zipper and their laughter. She says my name once, and then they're laughing again. My cock twitches against the cage, and I keep my eyes on the floor.

I don't know how long it is before the door opens. They come out together, both dressed for travel. Mike gestures toward the bag, and she looks at it for a moment.

"Perfect," she says. "It suits a cuck wimp like him perfectly."

She goes into the guest room. I hear the wardrobe key turn, then the sound of hangers shifting. She comes back with an armful of my old clothes and drops them on the floor in front of me.

"Pick a shirt and a pair of pants."

She goes back once more and returns with an old belt and a pair of canvas sneakers, which she sets down next to the pile.

I sort through the clothes on my knees. Most of it I haven't touched in months. I choose plain khaki pants and a washed-out blue shirt, both soft from years of wear.

"Pack the rest in the duffel."

I drag the bag closer. The zipper is stiff, and I have to work it open with both hands while they watch. I fold my clothes into it one by one.

I start to get up to dress, but a hard slap from her stops me midway, and I go back on my knees.

"Don't you think you should thank Mike?" She sounds almost sweet. "He brought you such a nice bag."

I hesitate for half a second, then crawl to Mike and stop in front of his shoes. I kiss the toe of one, then the other.

"Thank you for the bag, Sir."

He simply nods. Then I crawl back to the pile.

"Puppy, take the plug out. We don't want any mishaps during the journey. Do we?"

I shake my head. "No, Mistress."

"Wash it properly and pack it in the duffel."

I crawl to the bathroom, remove the plug, wash it thoroughly at the sink, and dry it. On the way back I feel the emptiness. I've worn it so long that its absence feels strange.

I tuck it into the bag, then stand and dress while they watch.

The belt is cracked leather. I thread it through the loops and buckle it. The sneakers are old, but fit well enough. The cloth rubs against the cage when I move.

She looks me over from head to toe.

"Hold still."

She unbuckles my collar and drops it into her handbag. The sudden absence of the leather makes my neck feel exposed.

"Don't forget your dog bowl under the kitchen sink. Pack it in the duffel and close it."

I crawl to the kitchen sink, take the bowl from under it, and tuck it into the bag.

Then I work the stiff zipper along its track and close the bag.

She takes my passport, my driving license, a small phone and a card from her handbag and hands them to me. The low-limit card and the basic phone, both ordered by me.

"Every dollar you spend, you ask me first. I don't care how small. Do you understand, puppy?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Only in an emergency can you use the card without asking." She taps the passport in my hand. "And don't lose any of it."

I drop to my knees and kiss the toe of her right shoe first, then the top. Then I turn to the left one and do the same, slowly. I stay down longer than I need to. "Thank you, Mistress."

She lets me. When I finally look up, she's smiling, and she pats my head.

Then I put everything in my pockets.

"Puppy, bring our luggage bags from the bedroom and take them outside with yours."

I go in. Two suitcases stand by the bed, and the room smells of her perfume and his cologne. I carry them out one at a time and line them up by the front door, next to the duffel.

She locks the front door behind us and drops the key into her handbag.

A car pulls up at the curb. She points at the suitcases, and I carry them to the trunk one at a time. Mike watches from beside the car.

When I reach for my duffel, she lays a hand across it.

"No, puppy. Not that one. You're not coming with us."

I look at her. I thought I was coming.

She tilts her head, and laughs softly. "Look at you. Did you really think a pathetic little beta like you would ride with us?"

I set the bag down.

"There's a bus at the corner. Take that." She pats my cheek, once, and turns to the car.

She gets in, and the car pulls away. I stand at the curb with the duffel. For a moment I just watch the car disappear. The cage feels tighter than usual.

Then I pick up my bag and walk to the bus stop.