That Hurts, Doesn’t It?

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Chapter 22 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

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CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, implied dubcon, self hatred, body image/appearance issues

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It isn’t the darkness, it’s the space. The room master left 37 in for the night is much larger than the closet at the hotel was. Being alone is already difficult, but being alone in such an open space is somehow worse. So much area to move around, so much more potential to do something bad; at least if it was restrained it wouldn’t have to think so much. At least he didn’t tell it to stay on the bed. There is a window, but it doesn’t feel right to look out of it. It shouldn’t be allowed such pleasures during punishment. Maybe that’s a test.

It isn’t as if master left it with no restrictions; the clothes he had given it are suffocating. Long sweatpants, a large t-shirt and a hoodie (thankfully master didn’t tell it to put that one on immediately). It feels so wrong to have this much covering- its body is meant to be visible and easily accessible. Having so much skin covered is nerve wracking. What if master wants to see or touch and it can’t get them off quickly or properly?

Why would he want to see something so hideous anyways?

It should have known he wouldn’t want to look at it, especially with the way it’s presented since he purchased it. 37 thinks of the prep staff at the hotel who were always there to ensure that it was clean and presentable. For the first time since leaving it thinks of its old life at the hotel and wants to cry. It was so much simpler there.

The pet stands, unable to sit still any longer. It needs to do something. The feeling of the clothes smothering and hiding every inch of its skin is awful as it very quietly pads across the room. Master had given it permission to use the bathroom at night- a privilege it hadn’t planned on abusing until now.

It makes its way silently down the small hallway and to the slightly open bathroom door. It closes the door carefully once it’s inside, making sure it makes no noise. Once inside it lets out the breath it had been holding slowly as it flicks on the light in the small bathroom. It listens carefully for several moments for the sound of master walking before it allows itself to move.

What little hope it had drains away as it searches the cabinets over and under the sink and finds nothing. No makeup, no perfumes, no skin products… fuck. Absolutely nothing to make itself more presentable for the next day.

Breathe. In, out.

37 knows it doesn’t deserve such things. They probably wouldn’t be enough anyway; master hates the way it looks. After a moment it finally dares to look at itself in the mirror. Its face is disgusting. It has slight bags under its eyes, and the consequences of going several days without its usual skincare routine are obvious. After staring in shame for several minutes it makes the mistake of lifting its shirt to asses the visibility of its scars. The several small marks its accumulated over the years across its body stick out immediately. Permanent reminders of its inability to behave properly marring its otherwise smooth skin.

It’s why he doesn’t want you. It’s probably why your first owner didn’t want you.

The pet returns silently to its room, where it strips off the clothes that master technically didn’t command it to wear and retreats to the safety of the small closet where it curls up and sobs. Just until morning.

————

Alex was up earlier than usual. The previous night wasn’t exactly a success; after several failed attempts to start a conversation with the pet he had resigned to showing it to the guest room which he had cleaned out for it. If he doesn’t want to talk least he can offer is some privacy.

The rest of the previous night was spent researching. He already knew that whatever was going on in the pet industry was fucked, but the rabbit hole seemed to only get deeper. Allegations of torture, kidnapping, murder- the list goes on. He had found communities online dedicated to “un-training” pets, which as it turns out is fucking illegal. Why the hell is that illegal?

The worst part is that after a few hours of reading around he still has no idea what to do. There isn’t a way to legally free a pet, and you legally can’t try to undo their training. Once they sign up they’re considered unfit to make decisions for themselves. There are activists around the country, but it seems like nobody takes them seriously. Few resources seem to exist for people in the pet system, and they have almost no personal rights whatsoever.

How did it get this fucking bad?

Alex was never the type to get angry easily, and this is the most furious he’s ever felt. It’s even worse knowing that he didn’t know almost any of this before now. He was never in support of it but he didn’t think it could be this bad.

The pet (he hates that he doesn’t have a name to think of him as) still hasn’t come out of his room- Alex assumes if he’s awake then he probably wants some privacy. He gets to work on making breakfast, making a mental checklist of everything he needs to do today.

I’m gonna need to talk to someone.

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Chapter 21 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

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CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, implied dubcon, self hatred

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The past several hours haven’t been the most exciting. After a quick fast food breakfast the two immediately made their way to the rental place and hit the road soon after. The pet (who Alex still doesn’t have a name for) had been even more quiet than before all morning, and seemed exhausted. He looked beyond relief when Alex let him know he could sleep on the way. He must’ve not slept well the previous night as he passed out almost immediately.

At least the rental is nice. It’s nicer than Alex’s own car.

How the fuck am I gonna pay for all of this? The question has lingered in his mind every second of the past day, and he still doesn’t really have an answer. Money is already tight- he’s not dead broke but he’s not exactly wealthy either. His shitty job as a store manager doesn’t pay the greatest, and his other aspirations haven’t exactly taken off. It’s worked out fine until now, but paying for a second person might complicate things.

It’ll have to work. It’s not like there’s any better options.

————

Alex’s internal debate as to whether to wake the pet up for lunch is conveniently ended as he stirs awake the moment the car rolls to a halt.

“Hey,” he starts, hoping to avoid freaking him out, “sorry to wake you. We’ve been driving for a long ass time now I thought you might be hungry.” The pet is clearly disoriented for a moment, and flinches subtly when Alex speaks. He looks out the windshield at the deli sandwich shop and then back to Alex silently. He looks almost confused. What is he thinking?

“Do you like sandwiches? We can get something else if you want.”

“Yes, sir.” He responds immediately. “I have no preference.”

“You can have a preference. Like, you don’t have to go with whatever I say.” The pet takes a moment to process that.

“I want whatever you want for me, sir.”

Alex still hasn’t found an appropriate time to bring up the ‘sir’ thing. There’s a lot of things he wants to bring up, but he doesn’t really know how to talk to him; he seems to just agree with everything he says. Apparently his frustration is visible, as the pet seems to react.

“I- don’t need to eat anything, master.” His usually level tone is a little off. Alex has no idea where this is coming from.

“Are you… not hungry?” He asks, confused.

“No, sir.”

“…okay.” Alex gets the impression that he’s lying. He decides to get him one anyway, in case he wants it later.

————

The house that the car eventually pulls up to is smaller than 37 expected. Not that it matters. It would never judge its owner, not for any reason; although his behavior has been very confusing. He had fed it in the morning, allowed it to sleep for several hours uninterrupted, and hadn’t yet punished it for a single mistake. When it woke he offered it food for the second time today, and it had realized perhaps too late that it was some kind of trick. Master hasn’t punished it yet.

“I know it’s kind of shitty,” he says as he looks at the house, “but I got it from my aunt who passed a while back. It would probably cost a fortune to actually buy now.“ He turns, smiling. “The good news is, I have a spare bedroom I can set up.”

37 freezes at that. What does that mean? A spare bedroom for what? It doesn’t like to think about that; it can’t be good. Why would he mention it?

“I think it’s very nice,” it manages to say with a more or less correct tone. You’ve been too quiet. He’ll know you’re broken. With the shock of the past couple days finally wearing off enough for it to think more clearly, it knows it’s been far too detached. A good pet would be the perfect accessory for its owner in any situation, and so far all it’s done is follow silently and provide nothing of service. It knows that it needs to try harder to love him.

“Would you like me to bring in your bags, master?” This is where its fate will be decided; if it can’t perform well in its masters own home then what use could it possibly have? Master’s been extremely generous and forgiving up until now, but it won’t last.

“No thank you,” he responds, immediately throwing it off again.

Was that a bad thing to offer?

“Also,” he starts, pausing for a moment as if trying to decide how to continue, “you really don’t need to call me ‘master’. I’d- I’d prefer if you didn’t, actually.”

What does that mean? Was there something else he should be called? 37 kicks itself mentally for not paying more attention earlier. Bad pet.

“I-I’m- apologies, sir, it won’t happen again.” It does its best to keep its posture and breathing correct and in rhythm. Master continues to speak.

“I’m not mad or anything! I just- I know it’s what you’re probably used to, but you don’t have to with me.” His tone is odd; 37 doesn’t know what it means, but he continues. “I didn’t really buy you to be your owner, I just wanted to give you a better home. I know you’ve been through a lot in the past, but I really do wanna help you. Things are gonna be better. I promise.”

For a moment it could swear its heart almost stops. It was right before; he didn’t buy it for himself. Fuck. FUCK. Of course he isn’t keeping you. Why would anybody want you?

37 doesn’t know how it had managed to convince itself that there was even a chance he bought it because he actually wanted it. Stupid pet. Worthless. Used.

It doesn’t cry this time. It can’t afford to, it can’t. Master wants to ‘help’ it, to fix it; maybe if it can convince him that it can be fixed, it’ll have a chance with him…

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Chapter 20 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

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CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, dubcon, abandonment, Stockholm syndrome, whumpee is basically a sex slave

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Angel is worried about his master. It was never unusual for him to be stressed from work or other things, but lately he’s been… distant. Typically when master is upset or bothered by something Angel knows how to help him relax, but for a couple of weeks now master hasn’t been very interested in sex. He’s hardly been interested in Angel at all, actually.

Everything is already set up perfectly by the time he hears the keys jingling on the other side of the front door. Master often cooked dinner himself, but tonight Angel had taken it upon himself to make his favorite pasta and get dressed up to surprise him after work. The pet kneels in the entryway right as he steps in, standing back up as soon as he was sure master saw him waiting.

“Welcome home, master.” He says, excitedly.

“Mm.” He grunts in response as he takes his shoes off. Angel steps forward and speaks more seductively.

“You seem tired,” he says, leaning forward. “Why don’t you relax?” Master sighs.

“Not tonight.” He states before the pet can initiate further. Angel tries to suppress his disappointment quickly.

“Oh- okay,” he says, keeping his tone even. “Well- I- I made you dinner.” He stutters as master lightly pushes him aside. “I thought maybe tonight we can lay together while you unwind since you don’t have to cook-“

“I told you, I don’t fucking feel like it tonight,” master barks, obviously frustrated.

Must have been a bad day.

“Of course, sir, I’m sorry.” He says, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. What am I doing wrong?

“What’d you make?” Master grumbles as he steps into the kitchen.

“I-it’s the wine sauce pasta, and-“

“Mm.” He grunts, a wordless ‘shut up’ that Angel had long since grown to recognize. Master takes his plate and starts heading up the stairs to his bedroom. Angel follows, taking care not to be too close as he watches his plans for a nice evening fall apart along the hall.

“Master-“ he calls while he still has the chance, “I was wondering if I could please have dinner tonight? I-“

“I’ll get it tomorrow.” Master cuts him off yet again, closing the door in his face. Angel returns downstairs to clean the kitchen and cries.

————

Angel is not a very good pet. He tries, but trying isn’t enough. For three years master and him were very close, but gradually over the course of several months things changed. Angel still isn’t sure what exactly he did to cause it, but every attempt he’s made to alter his behavior has failed. Master just seems so… bored.

Maybe you’re getting old. Angel always tries to ignore that thought. He’s young; he was only 21 when master bought him. Even knowing this, his mind always returns to the same words he’d been told back at the training facility. “Romantics don’t have the longest shelf life.” One of the handlers had said it when talking to another staff member; he doesn’t remember the rest of the conversation, but that sentence sticks in his mind.

No. This must be something different; this is about behavior. Perhaps he’s gotten too comfortable due to masters generosity. It wasn’t uncommon for him to get to finish masters left overs instead of his usual pet food, and master would often allow him on the furniture. It’s made you lazy. You need to be more proactive.

These were the thoughts running through his head when he approached master’s chair dressed only in his collar. Master used to love when he would put on a show. He slowly, gracefully steps in between master and the TV, positioning himself over his lap.

“I have something better for you to watch~” he says, voice trained to be perfect. He begins running his hands from master shoulders down his torso.

He feels the pain of the smack before he realizes what happened, stumbling over his own feet and falling backwards. The back of his head hits the floor when he trips with a dull thud, the impact thankfully lessened by the carpet under him.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Master shouts. “I told you to do the fuckin laundry!”

“I- I did, sir! I- I thought-“ he begins, tears flowing before he could realize and hold them back.

“Then go sit the fuck down! If I wanted a god damn lap dance don’t you think I would have asked?” He yells, kicking the pet’s side. The kick wasn’t too hard, but it was the message that matters. Get up and go.

“Yes sir, I- I’m sorry, I- thought you’d-“

“Don’t! I didn’t buy you to fucking think!”

Angel holds in a sob as he gets to his feet, immediately disappearing to kneel in the corner of the room. Another failed attempt that was obviously stupid in hindsight; this is why he doesn’t love you anymore.

That thought makes his stomach churn. It isn’t true, of course. Master still loves him, he’s just upset right now.

He still loves me.

————

The humming of the car’s engine under him is a good anchor to keep his mind from wandering. They could be going anywhere; although it is strange of master not to dress him up if they’re going out somewhere. Angel always liked when master would bring him places, it gave him a chance to look at the sky. It’s cloudy today.

This particular path through the city isn’t familiar to him. Maybe they’re going somewhere new today? He silently hopes so. It could explain why master wouldn’t say where. He wouldn’t say much if anything, really; he’s been silent the entire drive. Not that he talked to Angel much in the past few weeks anyways. He tries not to think about that.

It isn’t until the car pulls to a stop in the parking lot that he recognizes the logo on the outside of the building.

Here? Why here? What are we here for?

Angel starts breathing faster, but master thankfully doesn’t seem to notice. He does his best to calm down. It’s probably just for some kind of medical exam or something. It isn’t until then that he notices the sign in the window of what looked to be a lobby.

It’s a poster reading ‘Off to a New Home’, with a photo of a very happy looking pet in front of a nice house underneath. And under that, in smaller text, ‘Please call in advance about trade-ins and return deals’. The color immediately drains from his face.

“I said get out.” Angel jumps at his masters voice, his attention immediately pulled away from the window.

“…sir, I-“ his voice is stopped short by the feeling of master’s hand in his hair, yanking him out. He quickly steps out, allowing master to clip on his leash. The asphalt burns his bare feet as he feels the forward pull.

“C’mon.”

“Master-“

“I said come on!”

Angel yelps as a hard tug brings him stumbling to his knees, scraping one just slightly on the burning parking lot curb. He gets up just in time for the next pull, following quickly into the lobby. The cool of the air conditioning combined with the oppressive dread in the atmosphere make crossing the threshold into the building feel like entering a portal to a different world entirely. Master speaks with the woman behind the desk, and Angel can’t seem to pay attention.

This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening. What did I do? Is master getting rid of me? Am I too annoying? Too ugly? Too useless? What the fuck is going on??

“M-master, please, I- I’ll make it up to you, I will! I w-will I’ll be better!” He whimpers quietly, putting a shaky hand on his forearm. “Please just keep m-me please-“

“Shh.” He says, shoving him to the side with his shoulder. “Sit.”

Angel drops to his knees immediately, trying to ignore the slight sting of his knee against the cold tile. It doesn’t take long for a couple of handlers to exit a side door behind the desk. Angel stands without permission.

“W-wait wait- wait,” he pleads stepping back. “I…” he begins, unsure what to say as they approach. He looks up to his owner. “Master?” He begs as they each grab one of his shoulders. He starts struggling.

“Please! I- I love you! Master p-please I can be g-good! Please keep me I- I still love you! I c-can’t- I can’t!” He begs, fully sobbing now as the two men overpower him. His cries are cut off by the angular metal mouthpiece of a muzzle. Master doesn’t even make eye contact.

Please… please don’t let them take me… Angel thinks it as hard as he can, as if by some miracle he could will it into existence; but it doesn’t matter what he wants. It never did.

He still whines against the muzzle as they strip him down in one of the processing rooms, struggling as if there exists any chance of breaking free and seeing his master again. He doesn’t stop struggling until they tase him and bring him to a cell.

He loves me. He’ll come back. He wouldn’t get rid of me. I still love him.

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Chapter 19 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

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CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, implied dubcon, people who suck, whumpee is basically a sex slave for rent, (slaps roof) you can fit so many dead doves in here

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Alex is fucking pissed. After a slightly heated conversation with his brother and a ridiculously convoluted (yet somehow still too easy) transactional process, he is now in possession of a human being. And apparently dropping a couple grand to save someone from human trafficking is worthy of criticism? The past two hours have given Alex more reason to hate his brother and the people he associated with than a lifetime of bumping heads. What kind of people could treat another innocent person this way?

Apparently a lot. The market for it seems huge.

Alex isn’t staying here another night. He’d already decided. He packs his things quickly, mentally recounting all of the stupid shit he did to arrive at this position (starting with agreeing to spend time with his brother).

When he steps out of the room with his bag, the pet still hasn’t moved. Shit, right.

“We’re gonna be staying somewhere else,” he says, his frustration obvious. “Do you have anything you need a bag for? Like clothes or shoes or anything?” The pet hesitates with that same blank expression it’s had all day.

“No, sir.”

Of course not. He doesn’t have anything.

“Fuck.” Alex rubs his forehead in frustration, earning a small panicked glance from the pet.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Again with the ‘sir’. “You don’t need-“ he begins, giving up before he finishes the sentence. “Never mind. It’s alright, I’ll get you some shit.”

He starts the search for a nearby hotel on his phone. Somewhere cheap, preferably. Out of the corner of his eye he notices the very obvious distressed look on the pets face and immediately realizes what an asshole he’s been. He hadn’t even stopped once to consider what this looks like to him.

“Hey,” he says, trying to get his attention more gently. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna figure this out.”

————

37 doesn’t know how to feel. For the first time in as long as it can remember, it has the chance to walk outside of the hotel. Its owner was kind enough to buy it some sandals and shorts from the shop in the hotel, but not a leash. It’s probably a punishment for earlier; one of those subtle mind games that owners like to do.

It walks as close to him as it can, forcing itself to refrain from grabbing his hand without permission. Being outside without any kind of leash or tether is extremely nerve racking. It keeps its head down to focus, staring at its feet (even though it wants to look up at the buildings).

It was a long walk before they arrived at the dingy motel. Master had mentioned that they would be staying somewhere else. It wasn’t sure why, but it knows that master was upset at the others in the hotel room.

“I know it’s not the nicest place.” Master says as they approach the office to check in. “But at least here you’ll have a bed.”

Oh.

37 doesn’t know why it hadn’t expected this. Of course he would want to break it in; but 37 is already broken in. It wonders if he’ll be able to tell. If he’ll even want it after feeling how damaged and used and bad it’s become… It only takes a second for it to realize that when it’s clothes come off he’ll be able to see the scars as well.

He bought you without seeing you.

37 starts to panic as the two walk up the outside stairs and to one of the doors.

“Here we go. Sorry, it’s not the nicest but I’m a little strapped for cash right now.” Alex explains as he opens the door revealing the small room with two beds.

He spent so much money. The room is swaying harder and harder as it watches him set his things down. Fuck. What will he do when he realizes?

“You can sit down if you want. On the bed.” Alex tells it after a moment. 37 takes a step forward and watches as the floor tilts upward to meet its face.

————

“Oh shit!” Alex rushes to the pet’s side immediately, surprised. “Are you okay? Did you trip?” The pet looks even more shocked than he is, and immediately scrambles to his knees.

“I-I-I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry sir-“ he stammers, tears in his eyes.

Shit. He thinks I’m mad at him?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t be sorry.” He says, attempting to reassuring. The moment he speaks the pet closes its mouth and goes silent.

Was that the wrong thing to say? Alex is confused. The pet is obviously traumatized or something- how is he supposed to deal with that? He extends an arm to help him up.

“Here, you don’t have to kneel.” The pet takes his hand and stands. He doesn’t let go after, just stands there avoiding eye contact. He still looks fucking terrified but at least he’s breathing slower again. Alex carefully leads him to the empty bed, walking as if he were made of glass.

“Here.” He says, indicating the bed. “You can sit down. If you want,”. The pets face goes pale, but he immediately sits down.

“Are you okay?” He asks again, unsure what to do. The pet nods in response. This situation is incredibly difficult to navigate; he has no idea what this guy’s been through or what he’s thinking. He’s probably scared of me. Maybe he just needs some space. Alex sighs.

“So… I was thinking we could get something to eat in a few.” He says. “I’m sure you’re hungry. We’re gonna head back to my place in the morning, but I’m gonna have to rent a car and it’ll be kind of a long drive.” The pet has an odd look on its face as he talks; almost guilty. Alex tries to brighten up. “But hey, it’ll be better there. Trust me.”

————

The Denny’s a few blocks away from the motel wasn’t exactly the nicest place, but it was somewhere Alex could both sit down in and afford. The pet is as hard to read as ever- sitting across from him with a neutral expression that Alex has come to see as nothing but a front.

“Have you eaten here before?” He asks, handing him a menu. The real reason he wanted a sit-down place was to have time to really talk.

“No, sir.”

“Well feel free to order whatever looks good.” The pet stares blankly at the menu for a moment, as if unsure about how to use it.

“I… I can’t read, sir. I’m sorry.” He says slowly, ashamed. Alex is unsure how to respond.

“I- you can’t read?” He asks in a tone that was a bit more forward than he intended. The pet flinches subtly when he does, which Alex notices.

“Not much…”

He can’t fucking read? Seriously? Alex is surprised to be so surprised at this point; what wouldn’t the WRU do.

“That’s.. fine.” He starts, hoping to take attention off of what was clearly something he wasn’t happy to admit. “That’s fine, I can order for you. Do you have any idea what you want? What kind of foods are your favorite? I mean, it’s mostly breakfast stuff here.”

“I have no preference, sir.” He responds with no hesitation. Alex resolves to get him something with a bit of variety and see what he likes best for next time. After ordering, the pet just sits there silently.

“So,” Alex begins, “I know you’re probably scared of this whole situation. I just wanted to let you know that you’re safe with me, okay? I won’t hurt you. I bought you to help you.”

————

I bought you to help you. 37 is unsure how to feel. If his plans are to train it himself, that would explain a lot. Furthermore, it would give it another chance. It nods in response, unsure of the correct thing to say.

If he gives it even a chance to earn his love, it would be extraordinarily grateful. 37 hopes this is the case. For the rest of the conversation it focuses as hard as it can on staying perfect. It answers as correctly as it can everything he asks, no matter how strange.

‘Do you know where you’re from’ ‘What do you enjoy doing’ ‘Have you ever been to LA’

Master’s reaction is hard to read. He doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look pleased. When the food arrives, 37 eats slow and carefully despite being ravenously hungry.

Despite all of this, when the time comes back at the motel room master doesn’t even offer it a chance to sleep with him. It tries not to panic as he shows it to the empty bed, a punishment for its behavior earlier in the day. It had hoped he would allow it the floor, but it doesn’t deserve it.

37 lays awake in its empty bed just a few feet away from its master and cries.

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Chapter 18 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

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CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, implied dubcon, people who suck, whumpee is basically a sex slave for rent so if you’ve made it this far you know what you’re in for

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Gage seems taken aback for a moment.

“Why?”

“I just… want to buy him”. Alex isn’t sure how to best explain it without sounding ridiculous. It doesn’t sound ridiculous, does it? “I just- I just wanted to. Will you sell him to me?”

“I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing.” Gage says, his tone still genuinely surprised.

“It’s not about that!” Alex exclaims, already exasperated.

“Then what is it about?”

“I- look, can you sell him to me or not? I’ll pay whatever the WRU would.” He asks after a pause, clearly unwilling to explain further. I don’t think he’d get it. Gage clearly still doesn’t understand what this is all about.

“Ok, yeah, fine.” Part of Alex still isn’t thrilled at the thought of dropping so much money on this, but he knows this is more important than that.

“What’s happening?” Eric asks as he enters from the other room, followed by Jackson.

Fuck. They’ll understand if I explain it.

————

37 feels sick to its stomach. Part of it is due to the lack of food- it hasn’t been fed in a while, how long exactly it isn’t sure. The other part is due to the scene unfolding a few feet away, around the corner in the other room.

Good pets dont eavesdrop.

37 isn’t a very good pet, and it can no longer stop itself from thinking as it hears the man who had bombarded it with strange questions just an hour before offer to buy it from its new owner. The thought of changing hands again so soon is terrifying; he would be its fourth owner. Four is too many. Maybe if an owner doesn’t even use the pet it doesn’t count? 37 doesn’t know enough to be sure. Regardless, the thought of being sold before even really interacting with its master is disheartening in a new kind of way. Even damaged goods can get acknowledged; does it at least deserve that?

No.

The answer should be obvious. 37 doesn’t deserve anything. It reminds itself of this often. The two men talk for several minutes discussing prices. Its potential new owner- Alex- sounds very adamant. It doesn’t know what to make of that. He had offered to pay the same as the WRU, so there’s no way he just plans on sending it in… which means he must have some other reason. Something 37 doesn’t know.

Paying attention is becoming harder now as the panic slowly spreads throughout it. This is too much. It’s all too much. 37 diverts all of its effort to breathing, keeping its rhythm the way it’s supposed to. In, out. Don’t listen. Whatever happens, happens. Good pets don’t think.

37 hears the conversation becoming heated. The other two men had already joined in by now.

“…and I don’t want him to end up somewhere worse! Maybe I’m not the fucking weird one for wanting to help someone!” Alex’s voice is getting louder. The pet barely even registers what he’s actually talking about. He sounds frustrated and angry. That’s not good.

It wants to cry. It’s wanted that more in the past 48 hours than it has in a long time, but now especially. 37 doesn’t know how to behave properly anymore. Good pets Love their owners, and 37 hasn’t had to love anyone in a long time. Even if it was properly trained and prepared again, 37 is just bad. It knows that no matter who it ends who with, no matter what their intentions are it won’t be long before they realize what’s wrong with it and then it’ll all be over. That’s probably what happened last time.

“Hey,” Alex’s voice reminds it of where it is.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

It’s crying. It didn’t even realize. It does its best to regain composure, but he definitely notices.

“Uh- I’ve gotta make a couple phone calls and get this all sorted out, but you’re gonna come with me. Is- is that okay?” He asks. He obviously saw the tears. For a brief moment 37 wishes it could die on the spot; but that would probably be incredibly inconvenient for its new owner anyways. It nods after a moment (too long).

“Of course, sir.” It manages to keep its voice level. Its first interaction with its second new master of the day and it’s already ruined it. Judging by his reaction, he likely has some other plans for 37 in mind. If he was buying it for himself this behavior wouldn’t be tolerated.

“Okay.” He responds, a bit awkwardly before returning to the other room to do whatever it is he needs to. Meanwhile, the world collapses in on itself with 37 in the middle. The room is swaying back and forth like it sometimes does when things go very bad. This is going to be the end- he’s going to get rid of it somehow. 37 is too stupid to figure out exactly how.

Bad pet. Stupid. Ugly. Useless.

It doesn’t want to try. It just wants to be far away. It turns its eyes to the window and to the beautiful sky that would stretch on forever and ever if it wasn’t abruptly cut off by the tops of buildings. 37 wishes it could be beautiful too.

————

Chapter 17 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

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CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, implied dubcon, whumpee is basically a sex slave for rent so if you’ve made it this far you know what you’re in for

————

The past several hours have been a blur of confusion and fear. 37 had been absolutely sure it was being sent back; there had been no doubt in its mind. Few things ever end up quite how it expects. Within an hour of being prepped for what it had assumed to be the trip back to the WRU, it had its fear replaced with an entirely new kind of fear.

37 doesn’t know how to behave with a new owner. Romantics are supposed to be perfect for their owners; 37 is not perfect. 37 is used. Nobody wants a second- no, thirdhand romantic. Especially such a damaged one. It had grown used to serving people it knows nothing about. People who know nothing about it. What if it isn’t equipped to properly serve one master anymore? It’s important that it can learn what its master wants, what works and what doesn’t for him. Will he get it retrained? That idea almost causes its composure to slip. The thought of going back there fills it with dread.

Those thoughts swirled in its head all through the night as it was told about the raffle and eventually signed off to a very drunk man. The thoughts were so loud that it could hardly pay attention to what was actually happening. Thankfully its new master was too inebriated to pay attention to it. After he brought it to the room and promptly passed out, the night stretched on forever and 37 didn’t sleep almost at all.

There was another man with its master who went to sleep too. 37 wondered if it would belong to both of them, or if they were just friends. At one point, it got up when everyone was sleeping to check itself in the mirror. It didn’t look for very long before deciding not to think about it anymore. Not to think at all anymore.

Some things can’t be fixed with training.

The morning was much more eventful, yet equally terrifying. Its master had woken along with his friend and talked extensively with him. It wasn’t long before two more men entered the room and joined them.

Good pets do not eavesdrop. Good pets do not think.

It does its best to stay as detached as possible until it is talked to directly. It’s a good way to stay safe from doing something wrong, and much easier. What it should be doing is paying attention to his mannerisms, trying to figure out how best to talk to him and make him feel good. But it isn’t against the rules to do nothing, and 37 does not want to think anymore.

Just breathe.

“…giving it back or something while we’re here. I doubt I’ll be able to get it on the plane tomorrow anyways, they need their own tickets.” Its new master says exasperatedly, the words immediately cutting through the fog in the pet’s head.

He doesn’t want you. He just wants to get rid of you. Nobody wants to fuck a damaged, used, hideous pet. Nobody wants you.

Its composure almost slips, but it stops itself from begging. Thankfully, nobody seems to notice it’s off-rhythm breathing. Any chance that it might have of changing his mind will go out the window the moment it begs or lets them see its perfect composure slip. It forces its breathing back into rhythm and fixes its posture.

Now that it’s started, it can’t force itself to stop paying attention to the conversation. The men go back and forth with master about names for a moment. Its master is looking at his phone, not paying attention.

That’s good.

Attention is bad right now, 37 knows this. Although part of it is growing more upset that he hasn’t shown any interest.

Good pets love their owners. He has no obligation to love you.

After a while its owner decides to leave with the others, while one of the men agrees to stay behind and look into returning the pet. 37 puts all of its focus into not moving as they talk. It gets a strange urge to cry as it watches its new master walk out the door without having addressed it directly once. It tries to love him anyway.

————

Alex isn’t really sure how to talk to the pet. What do they have to talk about? He supposes the point of talking in the first place is to find out. He slowly re-enters the room after allowing the others to leave. The pet still hasn’t moved, sitting on its knees in the same pose. As he enters the room, the pets eyes meet his.

Why hasn’t he moved? It takes a moment before he manages to come up with something to say.

“Uh, hello. I’m Alex.” He says after a moment. “Do you have a name?”

Was that a stupid question? Jackson had already told him that they ‘don’t have names’; but what if he does?

“No, sir.”

Well shit, I guess he really doesn’t. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? How is he even supposed to address him?

“Oh,” he says, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Is there like, something I can call you? What do they call you here?” The pet looks unsure what to say for a moment.

“My ID number is 3-7-2-3-6-1-0, sir.” He says, extending an arm to show a barcode on his wrist.

Holy shit. They fucking barcode them?? There’s no way he’s going to remember that number. The way he repeated it so flawlessly was unnerving. There’s no way they actually call him that.

“I have no preference for names, sir.” He adds after a brief pause.

“Well it’s nice to meet you.” Alex hopes to sound half as polite as the pet did, which was way too polite. This is all so strange. “You don’t have to sit there, y’know. You can sit on the bed or something.”

The pet responds almost immediately.

“My master hasn’t asked me to move, sir.”

“He won’t care,” Alex replies quickly, trying to sound confident. “He doesn’t mind that kind of thing.” In theory this is true.

“I’m fine here, sir.”

Right. He’s not supposed to listen to me. Alex hadn’t expected him to be this obedient, to the point of refusing to listen to him. The thought that this man, this human being, is Gage’s property makes him sick to his stomach.

“Are you okay?” He asks without thinking beforehand at all. He would think that’s a normal question to ask, but the behavior of everyone else today has started to make him feel like it isn’t. “I mean, do you like… want this?” He adds, to be more specific. The look on the pet’s face is indecipherable. He has no clue what to expect.

“Pets don’t have wants, sir.” He replies after a moment, more monotone than before.

What the fuck.

————

The conversation didn’t last very long after that. Alex had no clue how to respond, and to be honest being in the room was making him more uncomfortable by the second. After a quick “Oh, okay” he retreated to his room.

The WRU website is not making things much better. The information page for ‘Romantic’ pets is even worse. Why the fuck would anyone want this? He can’t seem to get that thought out of his head. Alex knows the lengths people can go to for a weird sex thing, but something about this just feels very different. That guy does not look happy.

He peaks through the door to the other room (which he had left open). The pet still hasn’t moved. Even if Gage doesn’t plan on keeping him, someone will.

And if they don’t, this is where he ends up? The website gives almost no information on the actual living spaces they have. It does mention, however, that returns will be ‘retrained’ and potentially be resold.

Potentially. What is that supposed to mean?

There has to be an alternative.

————

Chapter 16 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

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CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, implied dubcon, whumpee is basically a sex slave for rent so if you’ve made it this far you know what you’re in for

————

37 isn’t sure what it’s being punished for. It thought that its service was good last night; it was booked quickly and performed well and behaved perfectly through the night. Despite this, instead of being taken to wait for prep after eating and getting clean it was taken to wait in the closet. For the first few hours it assumed (desperately) that the shifts had been moved around and it wasn’t being sent out until later- but 37 is certain that someone should have come for it by now…

Perhaps it had gotten a complaint. 37 has no idea what for (the guests it had stayed with seemed pleased) but it’s always a possibility. Even if that was the case, it’s never been punished before without being told first. Maybe it didn’t do anything. For a brief moment it wishes it had a mirror before decided that it would rather not see itself.

37 decides in that moment that it won’t panic. Good pets don’t panic and it cannot afford to be bad any more than it has.

Breathe steady. In, and out. Good pets don’t panic. Good pets don’t cry. Good pets don’t move or make noise unless asked.

It’s definitely been too long now. Was something bad happening? Nothing ever happened before that required its schedule to be delayed so far… No. This was definitely 37’s fault. It just hates thinking about the only idea it has left of how.

Good pets don’t panic. Good pets don’t move or make noise unless asked.

Knowing the rules is important. When 37 needs to calm down, it repeats the things it knows for sure in its head over and over and over… and what it knows are the rules.

Good pets do not cry. Good pets don’t feel ungrateful. Good pets aren’t ugly.

37 tries desperately to see the reflection of its face in the metallic doorknob of the closet door but the light from under the door only gives it a faint view of the distorted and blurry image. There is still light under the door. Somewhere, 37 hears talking. Maybe they forgot about it? That idea feels unlikely compared to the alternative. The people who work here don’t usually make those kinds of mistakes.

You make mistakes often.

It knows that it’s not a good pet but it’s sure that it hadn’t done anything wrong the previous night. It wishes it could think of something that it did, anything at all would be better than the uncertainty.

Good pets aren’t ugly.

37 doesn’t want to think about what it knows anymore. It isn’t helping. It strains its eyes to see the dark reflection of its face, stretched wide and grotesque on the spherical golden surface of the door knob. It tries to imagine it without what it knows is just distortion from the shape but even in a normal mirror it knows how disgusting it would look. How unattractive. How useless.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

37 isn’t supposed to panic. Panicking is bad. It already decided it won’t panic and if it can’t even follow through on that decision then it certainly doesn’t deserve all that it has been given-

It’s crying now. It can’t stop. Why has nobody come for it? It’s been in here for hours! Is it really that bad?

————

The hours pass by. 37 can take the isolation; it’s gotten much better at it. The thing it can’t take is the uncertainty. When the door opens unexpectedly (part of it didn’t expect it ever to open again) 37 is lying on its side, completely out of position.

Fuck fuck no-

“I- I’m sorry, sir.” It scrambles to its knees and tries its best to stop shaking. Was its tone off? Or is its voice just unbearable and unattractive?

The supervisor, who wasn’t looking in the first place, awkwardly taps the top of its head in case it didn’t already have its attention.

“What? Yeah, whatever, c’mon. Up.”

The pet slowly rises halfway itself and is assisted by the supervisors’ hand in its hair for the rest.

What is happening? Was that the punishment? Is it over? Will they tell me? Is it the next day?

It focuses on its posture and keeping composure as it follows the man to the showers. This confuses 37; it had showered and been fed already. Maybe there really was a mistake?

“Go. In.” The supervisor says, slightly annoyed after a moment of 37 just standing silently.

“I- uh- I was already showered and fed before punishment, sir. Would you like me to again?” It asks, almost flinching immediately upon hearing its own tone. 37 has never been good at keeping its voice right when asking questions; it didn’t have to do it often.

“What? Just go in. Do I have to spell it out for you?” The supervisor (who was looking at his phone by the time 37 had even opened its mouth) says, clearly frustrated. He puts his hand on the pet’s back and walks toward the shower, pushing it in.

“W-wait, sorry, sir-“ 37 stammers, panicking at the thought of getting its clothes all wet. It quickly strips them off and turns on the shower, not wanting to make him any more upset. The supervisor waits at the other side of the room as it washes itself and dries off.

“Would you like me dressed, sir?” It asks (much more carefully this time) after finishing, standing dry before him. It focuses on keeping its face even and neutral. Good pets don’t show negative emotion while serving.

“Just boxers.” He says casually as he pushes off from the wall he was leaning on. “Come on.”

It follows him once again back out into the prep room. The room is empty aside from a prep worker and a couple of staff members talking on the other side. Maybe it had been reserved in advanced? That would explain much of the strangeness, but 37 doesn’t want to get its hopes up. This could be something much, much worse.

That’s when it sees the simple thin white t-shirt and boxers draped over the side of the seat it’s being led to.

Good pets do not panic.

————

“Please-“ it sobs, long since having abandoned the will to stop itself from begging. “Please, I- I- I- I can be useful, I- I- I can still be good, I j-just need-“ it pleads, stopping abruptly when it sees its reflection in the mirror. It puts its face in its hands to cry.

Don’t look. Dont look.

It doesn’t know why it shouldn’t look; it makes no difference. Part of it still hopes.

“Quiet now,” the prep staff member says carefully, trying to be soothing. She runs her fingers through its hair. “Do your breathing.”

It forces itself to breathe. In, out. It’s fucked up and it knows this. It fucked up bad. If it had any chance of convincing them before (which it didn’t), it’s lost it by now with this display of incompetence.

“I- I- I can’t g-go- I can’t!” It accidentally blurts out as the prep working grabs the shirt and boxers.

“Shhh. Stay quiet now, you’re not going,” she lies as she hands them to the pet to put on. 37 tries to stop thinking. It shouldn’t be doing that so much anyways.

“Have him ready in five for pictures,” a man with a clipboard says from the doorway. 37 hadn’t seen him enter. He looks the pet up and down. “We’ll just wait to walk him out.”

————

Chapter 15 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

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CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, implied dubcon, whumpee is basically a sex slave for rent so if you’ve made it this far you know what you’re in for

————

Alex hates weddings. He hates any large social gathering, really; but the few weddings he had been obligated to attend in the past were especially painful to sit through. Usually the thought of not showing up at all would cause him to feel bad, but sitting in the hotel room with his brother and his friends he starts to question what led him to come along in the first place.

There are two other important things that Alex doesn’t like, those being Vegas and his brother Eric. The more he thinks about it, the more absurd it seems to him that when told Eric was getting married and having a bachelor’s party in Vegas he actually accepted the invitation.

It was him, his brother, and his brother’s two close friends Jackson and Gage (both of which Alex finds obnoxious but can get along with fine enough).

This doesn’t have to suck.

Alex has reminded himself of that several times by now. It isn’t supposed to suck, at least. It’s supposed to be fun, and hopefully a good chance to actually spend time with his younger brother in a way he hasn’t much since they were kids.

This doesn’t have to suck.

If you think it enough times, he figures, it’ll come true.

Alex doesn’t drink much but he decided at the start that if his brother’s idea of a great time is getting hammered and gambling then he would try to enjoy it with him. And the first two nights were actually pretty enjoyable.

But now, as he stands unable to look away from the man kneeling on the carpet in the corner of the room, he no longer knows what to make of the situation.

“No yeah I do remember,” Gage says after a moment of sitting with his hand on his forehead. “I entered us all in, this was one of the top prizes I think.”

Gage had paid for each of the group to enter the raffle being held by the hotel’s casino the night before. Alex had gone back to the room to sleep shortly after that and missed the rest.

“It’s one of the ones they rent out. Didn’t know you swung that way.” Jackson jabs from the other side of the room. The conversation has been back and forth like this since Alex woke to find that Gage is now in possession of a pet he has no idea what to do with. For a few moments he didn’t know what to think, but that problem didn’t last long.

Who is this pet? Why did Gage even accept the prize? Why is he still kneeling? Does Gage own this guy now?

“Why did you even accept it?” Eric asks before Alex gets a chance to.

“I was drunk.” Gage replies, an excuse he uses far too often.

The pet kneeling on the carpet flinches as Gage stands. He doesn’t seem to notice as he groans and rubs his temples.

“It’s probably worth a good amount of money. My uncle had one I think..” Jackson says as he looks it over.

“…so you actually own him?” Alex pushes out before anything else, his tone slightly more flat than he had planned. Alex doesn’t know much about pets; what he does know is that the thought of ‘owning’ another person leaves a bad taste in his mouth regardless of whether they signed up for it or not. Then again they did sign up for it…

The idea never sat right with him but he never really looked too much into it. He’s always assumed that some people just want that life. Seeing the man in front of him now though just feels… off.

“For now.” He responds with a sigh.

“One of the hooker ones too,” Jackson adds from the corner.

“I’m gonna have to find out about giving it back or something while we’re here. I doubt I’ll be able to get it on the plane tomorrow anyways, they need their own tickets.”

Alex could swear the pet’s breathing speeds up when Gage says that. The look on its face has been neutral this whole time; almost to a suspicious degree. Everything about this just feels very wrong.

“What’s his name?” Alex asks. Gage shrugs, searching something on his phone.

“They don’t come with names,” Jackson says. “You get to name them when you get ‘em.”

That makes him sick to his stomach. This whole situation is weird. This guy can’t be happy like this; he hasn’t moved or said a word the whole time. Is nobody else even a little put off? He looks to his brother, who is staring at his phone apathetically. Is it just the hangover? Alex barely pays attention as the others talk about getting food.

“Are you… just gonna leave him here?” He asks after the others discuss plans.

“Yeah,” Gage responds. “I think later I’ll call and ask about returning it or something.”

“I can go down and ask the desk and ask about it while you guys go out.” Alex offers. “I was thinking of staying back to relax for a while anyways, I have a bad headache.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah man, I got you.”

Alex doesn’t like the thought of leaving him alone in here, and the fact that the others don’t mind it at all makes him want to go out right now even less. Plus, the part about the headache is true.

“Appreciate it.”

The group gets ready to leave as he returns to his connected room to think for a moment. None of this sits right with him. The way they talk about him… it doesn’t feel right. He decides to talk with him.

————

The guys don’t return for a few hours, but when they do Alex takes Gage aside to talk.

“About the pet,” he says. “I’ll buy him off you.”

————

[Hey that’s the name of the show! Sorry for the wait, this one was hard to write and I’ve been busy with life stuff. I’ve rewritten it a few times cause I can’t decide how exactly to set it all up but I decided to just go with what I have now, hope yall like it!]

Chapter 14 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

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CW: Excessive use of semicolons, institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, dubcon, whumpee is basically a sex slave for rent so be warned please

————

It’s easy for 37 to remember the first few days it spent at the hotel. Remembering important things is the easiest, and important things don’t happen very much. The days it remembers between now and then are few and far between. It doesn’t like to remember things; it doesn’t have much to remember, and the feeling of realizing that is not good.

The first few days had been scary. First days are always scary. 37 remembers knowing that despite not remembering the specifics of how it learned. Even through the drip, important things are the easiest to remember.

The drip.

37 really doesn’t like to think about that either. It’s tried, once or twice, to remember it’s life before it. Trying to reach through that fog feels impossible, and more importantly it feels wrong. Even so, its presence is bothersome. It doesn’t know why the thought of not having access to the other side of that cloud is so upsetting, but thinking about it too hard is always a bad idea. Thinking too hard in general is a bad idea. 37 knows it isn’t supposed to think; those awful feelings are just built in punishments.

The pet curls up in the darkness of the storage closet. If it stops thinking then it can only feel, and this is not a good feeling. A rock and a hard place. It doesn’t know where it’s heard that saying before. It doesn’t know anything.

Bad pet.

Being alone is the worst feeling. Romantics aren’t made to be alone, they’re made to be used and to be touched and to be held and-

37 starts crying. Fuck. It can’t stop itself. It doesn’t know what it’s doing wrong; lately every decision it’s made has been the wrong one. It just feels so alone, even when it isn’t. It can’t figure out why.

Nobody loves you.

That thought makes it cry harder. If it ever deserved to be loved, its first master wouldn’t have gotten rid of it in the first place. It’s always been bad. And for the past few weeks (months?) it’s been even worse. It’s been unsatisfying in bed, responding slow to orders, and zoning out more and more. It’s been struggling to get booked more and more often each night. The hotel has recently brought in a few new pets. They’re all used, but they’re younger. Prettier. In better condition. 37 is not in good condition. Nothing lasts forever.

————

Today is hot. Every day is hot, this time of year. Angel is used to heat; it’s not the first time he’s been sent outside. Thank fuck for the shade, he could only imagine master’s reaction if he let himself get sunburnt. Even so, it wouldn’t be a very good punishment if the shade made things too much better. The Arizona sun makes the air feel like the inside of an oven.

Angel knows he deserves it; that doesn’t make the feeling any less crushing. He can go a day by himself, the loneliness is bad but he’s used to master going to work during the week. The heat is another story entirely; almost as bad as the guilt.

His eyes return to the small cut on his hand from cleaning up the glass. During sex in the morning master had pushed him against a wall, where he had accidentally knocked down a picture frame while trying to steady himself. The mistake was entirely avoidable, had he not been caught so off guard he would have moved more carefully.

Don’t make excuses.

Master was angry when he finished. If anything, Angel is lucky he wasn’t punished harder. Being sent to the yard in the heat is bad, but by far not the most painful punishment. More importantly, it won’t leave any ugly scars or marks.

What it does do is force Angel to make the difficult decision of whether to try to keep his mind off of the feeling of the heat by thinking, or vice versa. A rock and a hard place. Master likes those kind of punishments.

It isn’t long before he hears a voice from the door. Master can’t stay mad for more than a few hours; he loves him. Angel is relieved to finally have something comforting to think about.

Master still loves me.

After all, he wouldn’t keep him around if he didn’t.

————

The door opens, filling the closet with light. Is it already time? Maybe it dozed off…

“Up.” The voice of the supervisor cuts through its thoughts like a knife, almost as jarring as it is relieving. 37 stands shakily before the supervisor’s hand yanks it forward by the hair.

“C’mon, we don’t got all day,” he says, annoyed. The pet blinks as it fixes its posture and walk, adjusting to the light of the prep room. A few other pets are being prepared for the shift already. After some time of waiting it’s given a bowl of food and some water which it most certainly doesn’t deserve.

“Thank you, sir.” It says, injecting as much gratitude into its tone as it possibly can. It gets washed and changed as efficiently as it can. Today will be better.

Afterwards, it sits down in the only chair in the building that it has the privilege of sitting in as the prep lady immediately starts work on its hair and makeup. Being prepped is almost… relaxing. It’s easier to turn off its brain when it has a stream of commands and cues to follow, even if they’re short and simple.

37’s brain is abruptly turned back on when it hears a conversation behind it. Bad pet. It tries not to listen but it can’t stop itself.

“…with the new batch, probably gonna cut two or three in the next couple weeks. Some of the older ones are pulling in complaints.”

“Well we already have a good buyback deal on 2302, but I haven’t looked into any of the others. Some of them already got re-wiped before we got them so I doubt we’ll get something like that again,”

“I’ll talk to Donna about setting one or two up for the raffle, last time we got…” The conversation drifts out of earshot.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Breathe.

“Turn your head, sweetie,”

37 turns its head. It can hardly feel the prep lady’s hands on its face as it forces itself not to breathe too fast.

In, out.

They’re cutting back. 37 knows what happens to pets that aren’t useful; to pets that are ugly, disobedient, worthless, shaky and off balance, to pets who think too much-

The hand on its chin turns its head the other way. Do not cry. Do not panic.

The cacophony of the casino floor barely registers as the pet begins serving drinks to guests. It tries its hardest to be noticeable but non intrusive. Nobody wants it. Why would they? It’s defective.

There’s no reason to keep around something that nobody wants. 37 forces itself not to think about that anymore.

————

Chapter 13 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)

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CW: You pretty much get what’s on the tin, Institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, dubcon, whumpee is basically a sex slave for rent so be warned please etc etc

————

Pets aren’t allowed to speak to one another. This is an easy rule to follow; 37 hasn’t spoken a word to any of the other romantics since its arrival. It isn’t sure if it’s supposed to think about them, but sometimes it does anyways. The hotel owns quite a few of them; 37 isn’t sure how many, but there are some that it recognizes. When it had first arrived, there were a few pets that are no longer here. 37 doesn’t like to think about those pets.

There is one pet that 37 does like thinking about.

Pets do not like things, but it’s mind sometimes drifts to the subject of one of the other romantics. 37 doesn’t know its ID number, but remembers its face and occasionally sees it being prepped or serving guests in the casino. Some weeks ago, the two had been booked for the same group. The group was made up of 5 or 6 young men, and they were having a party or celebration of some kind in one of the large rooms.

37 had been particularly tired and hungry that night, and after serving the men for what was probably hours it finally had a chance to rest. It watched the other pet, who was laying with one of the men on a couch (a privilege that 37 had not been offered). Several of the guests were already asleep, drunk. When it was about to sleep, it felt something touch its knee and looked down to see a water bottle that had been rolled to it by the other pet. The two briefly made eye contact before 37 took it.

It still thinks about that moment at times, and that thought feels good. It isn’t sure why it took the water bottle even though it wasn’t offered by a guest, but that shame is outweighed by another feeling that it can’t place.

37 hasn’t seen that pet in a while.

Not that it matters; the two never interact. 37 would never interact with another pet because that is against the rules. Good pets don’t break rules.

It isn’t its business to care when a pet is sold. Romantics don’t last forever. 37 hopes the other pet wasn’t sold.

————

[Sorry this one is so short! It was just a small idea I had. I’ve had a very busy month and haven’t had much time to write, but I hope to pick up the pace soon!]

Chapter 12 of JACKPOT! (Masterlist)

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CW: Institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, self hatred including regarding appearance, dubcon, starvation whump, shitty writing, whumpee is basically a sex slave for rent so be warned please yall know the drill

————

37 has been thinking a lot lately, and that is not good. It shouldn’t have the time, it should be busy being useful; but it’s been left alone more and more often lately. Despite having an abundance of time to wonder, it still hasn’t figured out the exact reason. Knowing things isn’t what it’s good at.

37 knows that it isn’t good; It’s hardly attractive enough to be wanted by anyone, and its behavior only makes things worse. Even knowing this, some part of it had hopes that it could hold out indefinitely. It should know better.

The door to the room opens behind it and the guest who it was currently staying with enters. 37 doesn’t know where he had gone, but it’s been several hours of agonizing solitude and it immediately rises to its feet upon seeing him.

“Hello, sir, may I-“ it begins as it steps closer and into his way without thinking, earning it a quick shove to the side.

“Not now.” The man says, annoyed.

37 returns to its knees ashamed. It had gotten too excited. After a while of silently going about his business and a change of clothes, the guest leaves again without a word to 37. This is how it had been for the two days it’s been staying with the man (who it still hadn’t figured out the name of). The first day he had left it alone in the room all day while going out, and today has thus far been the same.

The pet’s stomach rumbles, causing it a brief moment of panic before remembering that there isn’t anyone around to hear it. The reminder of that somehow only makes the feeling worse. 37 had last eaten 3 days ago (it’s been keeping count), which is much longer than it is used to. The day prior to being booked it was being punished for something it could hardly remember (just another mistake to add to the mountain gradually piling on top of it). Usually during longer stays it would be fed by the housekeeping staff, but this guest didn’t seem to want them coming in. 37 could still feel the way it’s stomach has dropped as the man muttered something about them “going through his shit” while placing the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the doorknob.

37 catches itself almost dozing off. It quickly stands up (without permission) and makes its way to the sink in the bathroom. It cups some water in its hands and drinks it slowly in hopes of easing the constant nausea. It doesn’t help.

Its face is ugly. This information isn’t new, but 37 always feels the same sting when it sees itself in the mirror. It doesn’t understand what exactly it is about it that’s wrong, but it knows. There’s a reason that it’s being booked alongside rooms rather than separately out in the casino lately; 37’s performance is awful. The only way they can get anybody to want it is as a package deal. It runs its fingers lightly over the faint burn scar on its neck. 37 knows how lucky it is that this one is so small and hard to notice. It has other scars, of course, mostly from before its time at the hotel. More visible scars. Thankfully not enough to make it completely unsellable, as they’re easy to cover. It forces itself to return to the floor where it belongs, fighting the urge to torment itself further at the mirror. The water wasn’t helping much anyways.

It’s probably been hours since he left. It appears to still be light outside the window. It’ll probably be alone for hours more. 37 would cry if it wasn’t so focused on its hunger and exhaustion. Stay still, stay awake, breathe. Its objective is simple, although that never seemed to stop it from failing before.

————

Any relief it would feel is almost entirely drowned out by the immense guilt as the housekeeping lady pulls a plastic bowl from the cleaning cart and fills it with the bland kibble. It glances at the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, now moved from its place on the door knob and placed (not so) inconspicuously on the TV stand.

“Eat up, sweetie.” The lady says, drawing its attention back to the food that it doesn’t deserve. Permission is permission.

37 eats quickly, too quickly almost, finishing before the housekeeper even has the time to finish tidying up. This gave it more than enough time to feel the shame crushing it as she organized and cleaned up the guest’s things against his wishes.

Bad pet. Bad, disgusting, hideous-

“Oh, you must be hungry,” says the housekeeper, noticing the already empty bowl and adding a bit more. “Go ahead.” She says, probably noticing its (ungrateful) stare.

“Thank you, ma’am.” It manages to say quietly. The act of kindness somehow only amplifies its dread. 37’s nausea does not go away.

————

That night the guest returns late, and seems annoyed to find the room clean. He notices the small sign that was supposed to be on the door and grabs it, turning to 37.

“Did you move this?”

Every voice in its head screams at it to tell the truth, to admit it and accept whatever punishment it deserves.

“No, sir.”

“Mm.” He grumbles as he tosses it to the side, requiring no further convincing.

37 cries when he uses it that night, but it is quiet enough to go unnoticed by the guest. At least it’s good at that.

————