#dehumanisation cw

With Da-ji, he is primarily created with inspiration from Su Daji (The Investiture of the Gods) and Suguru Geto (JJK) as well as a sprinkling of Heo Myeong (Gwichon-ri).

Su Daji is popularly written as a femme fatale. She is introduced as the favourite consort of King Zhou, the last king of the Shang dynasty in ancient China. In many legends, a malevolent fox spirit kills and impersonates the real daji in order to get close to King Zhou. Under their influence, King Zhou's tyrannical behaviour escalates to never before seen levels of cruelty. Ultimately, leading to the downfall of the dynasty.

Although King Zhou received a lot of backlash, blame, criticism and curses for his ruling- it was Daji's head that was decapitated and paraded around as a 'cautionary tale'. Many who remember the tale remember her as the villain more than they bring up King Zhou. Many blamed her ultimately for the ruin of the dynasty, refusing to attribute responsibility to everyone else involved.

The real daji never stood a chance. Killed before she even got a chance to live a life. Appointed as a consort without knowing what was to befall her. And now her image in the peoples' eyes are forever tainted.

Suguru Geto is someone who lost sight of his purpose through a series of traumatic events, growing more and more embittered with the people they were 'supposed' to protect. Having lived through watching those he cared for die an early death, having it be an expected thing to die young in their line of work, having to protect those who fear/mistreat/abuse others like him etc all culminated in his eventual ideals/resentment towards non-sorcerers, viewing them as the root of all their problems.

Gemma straightened her dress and turned away, checking herself in the hallway mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed from the last time she'd had with the pet, her hair a bit messy, her pupils still blown. It had been good, perfect, probably. Not great, though. She could see it more clearly, now that she was moving on. Great sex was - just in sex, in contrast to everything else - in the imperfection, in the giggles and the laughs and the insecurities and the 'do you like it when I do this?'. 

And Gemma was ready to have great sex again, with new acquaintances or maybe with old ones. She didn't need a pet with complex pet needs and peculiar pet feelings. She was in charge again. 

"Ms Gemma? Please? Let me out! I'll make up for it."

It hadn't done anything wrong. It had done everything right. 

The doorbell rang. 

Looking past the short term feelings of emotional attachment that had grown from heartbreak, Gemma simply just wasn't cut out to be a pet owner. She lacked the patience and the willingness to invest more money, and she definitely lacked the depravity that pets like Ira were designed for. 

The guy at the door, however, seemed to meet these criteria. Paul Summers, rich heir and investment banker. He'd contacted her via Craigslist, before they'd taken her ad down due to some ridiculous issue about community guidelines.

The camera showed a young man, slicked back blond hair, sunglasses, designer suit. On an afternoon at the weekend. Yeah. Definitely the kind to own a pet. Gemma buzzed him in, before she turned around and talked at the closed bathroom door. 

"Ira. Pet. You've been delivered with some handcuffs, right?"

"I..." A pause. "Yes, Ms Gemma."

"Put them on. Hands behind your back. And to your knees. I'm going to let you out in a minute."

After she heard the two faint clicks of cuffs being closed, she opened the apartment door to let in the visitor.

"Miss Sinclair." Summers grin was too wide and too white. "Thank you for making the time. That's a once in a lifetime offer you put up there." He took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt while he looked her down. "You do look well fucked. Was that the pet?"

Gemma frowned at that level of disrespect, almost ready to show him the door again, were it not for the slim briefcase by his side. Cash, they'd agreed. There'd still be official papers to transfer ownership, but she didn't want the transaction show up on her account.

"It was." She smirked. "It's worth the money."

"Well, I hope she knows how to fuck a guy, too. You've had any chance to evaluate this?"

Gemma cleared her throat. What an ass. "My... ex. Yes. He was very satisfied."

"Nice." Another grin. "So, where is she?"

Gemma unlocked the bathroom door and pushed it open.

The pet was kneeling on the blue tiles, hands tied behind it, back straight, eyes cast down on the glossy blue tiles in front of it.

Tears were glimmering in the corners of its eyes. Gemma pretended not to see them. 

Summers didn't seem to notice them at all. "Well, aren't you a beauty?" He grabbed her - its - chin and tilted its face up, thumb running over its lower lip. "Fuck, I can't wait to try out that mouth."

Without turning around, he asked Gemma, "What's her name?"

"Ir...," Gemma cleared her throat. Her mouth was dry, all of a sudden. Ridiculous. "Ira," she repeated. It shouldn't feel like a betrayal.

"Ms... Ms Gemma?" Ira breathed. "Ms Gemma, who - ? Why?"

"You're a pet. I don't need a pet. He does."

"But I ..." Ira swallowed back a sob and Gemma felt her jaw tense. Pets learned to manipulate. They were made to make people feel things. It was an uncanny act. "I love you, Ms Gemma."

It stung. It stung so much, she didn't even hear what Summers said in reply to that.

She shook her head in disbelief. She was a professional. This was a business deal. Nothing more. "Excuse me, what did you say?"

"I think she'll do just fine. She doesn't need to love anyone, she just has to keep her mouth shut and spread those long legs whenever asked to. Can you do that, Ira?" His fingers were still on its lips, and somehow that irritated Gemma. 

"I..." Ira - the pet - swallowed, and its voice shifted to honey once more. This time, however, it sounded more viscous than sweet. "I am made to fulfill my owner's desires."

"Thought so." He smiled fondly. "So, Miss Sinclair, if you have the papers ready, I'll take her."

It, Gemma thought automatically. It. It. It. 

"Yeah," she mumbled, gaze on Ira, one last time. Large brown eyes, silently pleading. Soft white hair, that Summers was curling around a finger already. Tense muscles under scarred brown skin. And the collar, marking it for what it was. "Yeah. You take her."

It.

It sobbed. 

Evelyn frowned slightly. “If the pet is truly obedient, there should be no need for behavior correction.”

“That is incorrect, and the reason for the final test. See, some owners like to have defects trained into their pets, and these defects must be managed by the sitter in an appropriate way. They are not intended to be removed or the pet punished for having them. Additionally, there are occasionally defects present from overtraining, which further training would only further ingrain until the pet was useless. They require skill to manage and mold into what is desired.”

Evelyn didn’t quite understand, but nodded politely.

“To test your skills, a pet has been shipped to your house. It should arrive presently. This pet is defective, and worth less to our company. After the test is complete, you may either return the pet or buy it at a significant discount.”

Evelyn nodded, and the doorbell rang. 

“I imagine that is your pet. A month from today, or earlier if you request it, there will be an assessment of your pet. Ideally, you will have a controlled pet, able to promptly follow simple commands and to be handled both by yourself and by the assessor.”

“I understand.”

The woman smiled. “Well, have fun.” And then the call ended. 

Evelyn stood up, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. She opened the door to see a large box. 

While she’d prefer to open it inside, she wasn’t positive that she’d be able to move it, so she cut the tape on top and opened it to see a cage inside, and a pet. The pet was mostly free within the cage, though with the cage’s size that didn’t say much. What did say something, however, was that though the pet’s hands were close to its face, and had not moved the blindfold or the earplugs. 

It seemed to be asleep, and Evelyn shook the box to wake it. There was a jolt, and then a shivering, but it neither moved nor tried to make a sound. She opened the cage and reached down, setting her hand on its shoulder first. Even that touch made it jolt again, quivering as if she were threatening it already. She just moved steadily, taking the earplugs out and the blindfold off. 

The pet still didn’t move, not even to look up at her, just shook, curling up in a ball at the bottom of the cage.

“Stand.”

Immediately, though not smoothly, the pet stood, eyes trained on the ground, swaying almost dangerously. 

“Come inside.”

Evelyn walked inside, and watched as the pet nearly toppled over attempting to step over the edge of the box and walk inside. Perhaps from the shaking, perhaps for other reasons, it was clearly struggling with standing. Once it had followed her into the living room she told it to kneel, which it did immediately, dropping to the ground ungracefully. 

She inspected, finding no visible wounds, though with the shock collar, there ought to be no need of correction devices that would leave wounds. She left the pet and went to see if there was anything else in the box. Perhaps the remote to the collar, or a manual explaining the particular defects this pet had, other than the obvious shaking and listlessness.

There was a small bag of dry pet food, enough for a few days, and the remote, but nothing else. 

She took in a deep breath. She had to take charge of this. Establish rules. Consequences. 

She went into the living room and sat down on the couch, but before she could say a thing the pet’s eyes snapped to the remote, and it dropped down, forehead to the ground, shaking many times worse. Its breath was coming fast and short, and it seemed to be trying to speak, but all that came out was increasingly breathless incoherent sounds, and in a startlingly short amount of time it slumped, perfectly still. 

Well. That had been a wreck. 

Evelyn had many pet supplies already, and while the pet was still unconscious she removed its collar, replacing it with a wide, soft one. Her first objective was becoming more and more clear. She needed to establish herself as safe. When she was there, the pet was safe. 

She hid the shock collar and the remote in her own room, and then looked around to see if she happened to still have that half-empty bottle of smelling salts anywhere. 

But while she was still looking she heard a slight moan, and returned to the living room. The pet was looking around, confusion clear on its face, but it jolted when it saw her, straightening into a proper kneeling position. 

Evelyn sat down on the couch, smiling slightly. “You’re doing well.”

The pet’s eyes widened slightly, but there was no other reaction. 

“What were you trained to be?”

The pet made a soft whining sound in the back of its throat, but then also tried to answer verbally. “P-p-peh-pet.” 

That wasn’t usual. There must have been some kind of confusion in the training. Usually pets were designated as companions, with the ability to converse, or as pets, without that ability. And of course others sold as domestics, or romantic partners, but she was focused on the pet niche, and didn’t much interact with the others.

“That’s good. You don’t need to speak.”

The pet made a soft sound of acknowledgement.

She needed to establish rules, or the pet would flounder, but she also needed to establish safety, and was paused for a moment, trying to decide which order she would do it in. 

She motioned to the ground next to her, and the pet made a tiny, confused sound, shaking again. 

“Come.”

The pet quickly moved to the spot, looking up at her with wide eyes. She set a hand on its head, ignoring the significant flinch, and petted gently. “Well done.”

The pet’s eyes got wider again, and she could see now that it was in surprise. 

There was still that persistent shivering, but the pet moved easily once she pushed, and she made it lay its head on her knee, where she then kept petting. 

“You’re doing well. You’re a good pet. You just do as I say and I’ll be very pleased with you.”

The pet made a soft noise almost like a purr. It was a trained thing, not because she was successful yet, as clearly evidenced by the rigid posture of the pet’s body. But she had a month. This was good for a first step. 

“You’ll need a name, won’t you?”

There was a soft sound, something neither affirmative or negative. 

“I’ll call you Nora.”

The sound then seemed happier, but nothing in the pet’s demeanor changed. It was still terrified, trying to behave and do everything right. 

For a fleeting moment, she wondered how she’d look wearing it. Good, she guessed. She certainly had the body for it, and worked hard to keep it. Good, but not herself. She wasn’t kinky like that, she’d certainly never define herself by revealing her body like some whore. She wasn’t a fucktoy.

From behind the door, she heard quiet breathing, interspersed with soft whimpers. 

Gemma reached out for the key, and turned it around near soundless, before she pushed open the door. The breathing had stilled. It was afraid, she thought, some odd thrill of triumph running down her spine. It should be. It should know its place.

Gemma went to her knees next to it, and rested her fingers on the pet’s lips. Her touch was met with the sweetest little shudder. Yes, she thought. This was going to be good.

"Shhh, pet," she whispered, even though it was utterly unnecessary. She had never encountered anyone as quiet as her white-haired pet.

"Madam," it breathed. "I’m not dressed, I’m so-"

"It’s okay," Gemma said. "I’ve brought you something."

She couldn’t make out the pet’s face in the dim light falling in, but she could feel its body soften under her hand, when she ran the lace one-piece over its skin. "This is yours."

"Yes." Its voice was so low, maybe a little fearsome, but still sweet.

"Put it on."

Even in near dark, it was impossible to miss the beauty of the pet’s movements, soft and sensual, as it slipped into the lingerie. The little light from outside made scars on its body shine, where it wasn’t absorbed by the deep black of the lace.

It’d take any man’s breath away. It’d steal Mark’s breath, for sure. 

She smiled. "Good girl," she whispered. "Follow me."

Gemma Sinclair wasn’t a fucktoy. But she was owner of one. And it was time to put it to use. 

“My darling,” she said as her arms wrapped around him from behind, whispering in his ear, “I don’t think you have much say in the matter.” His face flushed red and a shudder ran through him as her hands roamed around his bare chest, passing over patches of scales.

“Fuck off, you perverted witch! Why am I here? Why didn’t you... kill me?” He struggled to keep his voice level as he stared ahead, refusing to give her the satisfaction of his fear and discomfort.

“Oh, where ever did you get the impression I wanted you dead?” Einn released her hold on him and came back around in front of him. “Though I suppose what I want isn’t far from it.” An unnatural smile crept across her face. “I simply wish to take everything away from you, everything that’s keeping you from being human. Like this arm.” She traced her finger down his left arm, which was completely draconic save for the bones, and up underneath his chin. He tried to jerk away again, but her grip tightened enough for her nails to draw blood. “And these eyes.” Jairus finally turned his slitted pupils towards her, glaring with as much contempt as he could. 

“What the hell kind of sick bullshit is that?”

“Hmm-my kind, I suppose. Now, I must be off to… get a few things in order.” Her hand fell back to her side, brushing against something in the pocket of her robe. “Oh, but I do have a little present for you,” she said as she went around behind him again. Jairus wasn’t sure what he expected, but the feeling of a leather collar strap wrapping around his neck was not it. His brain didn’t even fully register what it was until it was already (tightly) secured.

“What the-get this damn thing off of me! I’m not some fucking animal-” his protests cut off and dissolved into gasping coughs as she jerked the attached chain backwards.

“You really need to control that tongue of yours,” Einn sighed. She moved around in front of him again and secured the chain to the floor, forcing Jairus to keep his head bowed.  “Ah well, that’s a problem for another day.” She walked to the door and opened it, turning back to say, “I’ll be back for you later,” before leaving him alone in the dark.

Back to an empty cell, Jairus scoffed.  There was no way he was going to just sit and wait for her to come back. He wrapped his left hand around its chain and tugged it. Weak.

He was definitely going to escape.