Mark and Gemma get a pet - p XXXII (the final part)
Tag list: @painful-pooch @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump @abitefullofwhump @whumpinggrounds @dragyouthroughthewhump
This is it. The final part. I’m emotional. I hope you will be too. Thanks for all the support, and to everyone who was with me during this ride.
Cw for BBU, pet whump, dehumanisation (whumpee partly referred to as ‘it’), referenced BBU-typical dubcon/noncon
[Masterpost] [Part I] [< Previous]
"Ms Gemma? Ms Gemma, I'm sorry, please? Let me out?"
Gemma heard faint taps against the bathroom door. It was odd how the pet was soft and quiet, even in despair. Gemma knew she was desperate.
No. Not 'she'. It. It, the pet. Ira wasn't a person, Ira was a discarded toy, and Gemma had needed her - no, it - for a while.
She didn't any longer.
It hurt a little, admittedly. She'd allowed the pet to grow close to her, to become a part of her life. She felt good when the pet smiled at her, felt safe in its arms, comforted by its love. She'd lost herself in its touch.
More than herself.
She'd lost control.
Of Mark, of her own emotions, of her life.
She'd be getting it back.
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."
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❝ THE POISON LEAVES BIT BY BIT, NOT ALL AT ONCE. BE PATIENT. YOU ARE HEALING. ❞
NAME: Gemma Sinclair
GENDER/PRONOUNS: Female, She/Her
DATE OF BIRTH: February 24th, 1991
BIRTH PLACE: Washington D.C.
CURRENT RESIDENCE: Ocean Park Boulevard
OCCUPATION: Marine Conservationist & Educator
FACE CLAIM: Elizabeth Lail
BIOGRAPHY
trigger warnings: death, addiction, depression
It isn’t often that a family is as perfect as they present themselves to the world, but the Sinclair’s came close. Especially where Gemma and her twin brother were concerned, their childhood was a dream – every care attended to, every whim fulfilled. Some might say they were spoiled rotten with their mother doting over them, but their parents managed to instill a firm set of values from a young age. She was the youngest of the three, the baby of the family even if only by a couple minutes. Gemma was soft, her father always said, with a heart too big to hold within her chest – so much like her mother.
Endlessly curious, she loved exploring the outdoors - asking how leaves got their patterns and why the roots of trees showed how old they were. Kind and outgoing, making friends was a constant with every new person she met, a bright, happy child with unlimited potential. Gemma adored her brothers, wanted nothing more than to be exactly like them and do everything together. But Noah’s distance came with her first heartbreak, the feeling of beingunwanted festering in her as he became the first person she couldn’t befriend no matter how hard she tried. It left traces of insecurity in the girl, unable to comprehend what had made him so cold towards the twins.
It was out of the blue that the bright warmth of childhood was snatched away from her. For weeks after her father’s death, Gemma refused to acknowledge its reality – unwilling to go to bed because Daddy’s just late and I want to stay up until he comes home, writing him post-cards as if he was simply away on military duty, refusing to let anyone touch his belongings and pack them away. Her mother, who’d always been her rock in the past, was just as lifeless – a shadow of her former self, and Gemma couldn’t begin to understand what she’d done wrong to deserve seemingly losing both her parents. Noah coming back just cemented the truth – her father would never again step through the door with a beaming smile on his face, and her mother was irrevocably changed. It didn’t mend anything, not really, and she was certain it was out of obligation and pity rather than genuine care that had made him come back. The little girl who wanted nothing more than for her older brother to play with her was no longer, and perhaps she made a show of herself being alright just enough to wave away his worries and let him go back to his duties in the military.
Things were far from perfect now though, their mother’s state only worsening and there was little Gemma seemed able to do in order to snap her out of it. The doting, caring mother of her youth was gone, and there were times when she felt like she was living with a stranger rather than the mother she adored. Even so, life had to move on – and she knew that her father would want them to make the best out of the situation and get through it together. So Gemma took over her mother’s obligations, making sure groceries were bought, the house was cleaned, dinner was made – and although she knew her brother was keeping Noah informed about what was going on at home, she didn’t want him to feel like he had to stay for their sake. She wanted to make sure that everything was alright, even if she could feel herself starting to crumble under the pressure. After all, Gemma kept telling herself, her mother just needed a bit of time, and the easier she could make it for her – the sooner she might return to the woman she had once been.
Her mother’s death wasn’t a shock so much as her father’s, and a part of Gemma felt like she’d been preparing for it since the day her father had died. But even so, it broke her.
Depression runs in their family, and unknowingly to the girl, it hit Gemma hard. She struggled, attempting to hold herself together after her mother’s death for the sake of her brothers – but any joy she’d once found in life was lost to her. Once brimming with happiness and excitement, there seemed to be nothing to look forward to anymore – her family had been torn to shreds, and the people who’d once been her heroes had died. Too young to see herself as repeating the same mistakes of her mother, she fell into patterns that should have looked familiar to her. But to her – it was just a drink at a party, one drink that turned into two, then three – and before she knew it, she’d found a crutch. The exuberant wave that came with being drunk a relief out of the crippling sense of unhappiness that threatened to swallow her whole. It didn’t register at first, high functioning in both her addiction and her depression – she managed to wave off the worries of her brothers and her friends. She was fine it was just a party that got a little out of control. Her excuses waved it off as teenage rebellion, wanting to fit in with her friends, any explanation she could grasp that would stop them from worrying. After all, her grades had gotten better, she had friends, she wasn’t a lifeless shell (even if she felt like one.) But unbeknownst to her, she was spiraling down the same path her mother had taken.
Luckily for her, her brothers grew concerned enough that they felt the need to intervene. It was unwanted at first, a struggle that left her at odds with both her brothers as she tried to push them away. Eventually, she relented, giving in to their pleas of sending her to rehab and counseling. Getting clean wasn’t easy, days so much darker than they had been as she was forced to confront the most traumatic moments of her life and most of the friendships she’d built ones that she had to erase again. Reality was finally catching up, but her brothers were there through it all, and she clung to them as if they were the only thing keeping her from drowning. (She never fully admitted how much that was true.)
Who she was… it was something Gemma had to redefine many times, even with the help her brothers offered, finding peace within herself was a much harder journey to take, and it was one she had to face on her own. She knew she couldn’t ask them to put off their futures for her any longer, and with her newfound sobriety and a promise to never take so much as a sip from a drink again, she urged them that she was set on finding a life for herself. College was put off – wanting to experience life and figure out what she might be interested in studying before she went back to school. She flitted from positions as a waitress, to an assistant, to a shop clerk, flight attendant – time drifting by and her hope of finding something that sparked an emotion within her seeming to fade with each new venture. Keeping her promise to her brothers was difficult, the temptation to sink back into old patterns strong, but she knew that she had to keep her word, both for them, but mostly for herself.
A trip to the aquarium made her realize that she could find a job with a bigger purpose, one where she could feel equally like she was fulfilled and like she was making a difference in a world where she so often felt like she was accomplishing nothing, and with the money she’d saved up over the years and whatever scholarship money she could scrape together, she finally enrolled in university to study Marine Conservation and got a job at the Heal the Bay Aquarium in Santa Monica. It felt good to have a path again, a glimpse of a future rather than just a hopeless wasteland.
Guilt still consumes her, and she struggles with blaming herself for her family’s downfall. If she’d managed to be there for her mother, if she’d never diverted Noah’s attention from his wife… even ten years later she hasn’t forgiven herself for the failures in her youth. Gemma isn’t sure if she’ll ever feel as if she’s truly mended everything that went on, but if there was one thing she learned, it was that she had to keep going and allow herself to bloom.
Tag list: @painful-pooch @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump @whumpinggrounds @dragyouthroughthewhump
Cw for BBU, pet whump, very vaguely referenced BBU-typical dubcon/noncon, referring to whumpee as ‘it’
[Masterpost] [Part I] [< Previous] [Next >]
Gemma let the pet sleep in her bed now. It was a king size bed, after all, there was plenty of space, and she liked the pet's soft warmth next to her. Ira whimpered in her sleep sometimes, or flinched at noises from the street, but it kept quiet and didn't move much. It was just there, listened to Gemma, cuddled up against her, or, well, did that thing that Gemma liked.
Gemma hadn't used her vibrator in weeks. There was no need.
Sure, the pet was more expensive in the upkeep, but it was warm and pretty, its kisses felt nice, and it always kept itself neat and clean. And, if Gemma was honest, Mark had surely burned more of her money - and of her patience, along with it.
She was so over him.
Next to her, the pet stirred, and Gemma ran her fingers through its hair, watching its eyes flutter open. "Ms… Ms Gemma, good morning," it mumbled. "For… Forgive me, I'm sorry, I must've slept in, I…"
The pet blinked rapidly. "Do…" Its voice was raspy from having just waken up. Gemma liked the sound of it. "Do you want your coffee, Ms Gemma?"
Not necessary, Gemma wanted to say automatically, but then her gaze caught on the pet's collar, a reminder of what it was. "Mmmmhm," she mumbled instead. "Yes. And check the staircase for the pastry delivery. If it's there, get me the croissant too. With a little butter and honey on the side."
"Of course," the pet whispered and slipped out from under the sheets.
Gemma smiled. Perfect. She didn't need to fake politeness. Ira was her property, and the pet loved to be of service. It was made to, after all.
She watched Ira walk out of the room, in one of the silk negligés Madeline had left, and while she still found it tastelessly revealing, she could admire the way it danced around Ira's body. Most of that had to be credited to the pet's movements, though, not to the negligé. The pet's own disposition, or WRU's training. Whatever the reason, Ira was a lovely product, and Gemma found herself increasingly pleased with having it.
Her phone vibrated on the night stand, and with a soft groan Gemma rolled over to check her messages. There were several, all by her friends.
'Fuck that jerk, bby. He never deserved you.'
'if u wanna get drunk, i'm free tonight.'
'He's so gross, I'm sorry. I'm sure, it's just a rebound. She'll be gone by tomorrow. He's totally not over you.'
Dread pooled in her stomach, as she scrolled through her contacts. Reeve, Mark. There was a story in his profile. Gemma's thumb froze over the phone for a second, before she pressed it.
A lovely summer day. Some sort of party, probably a wedding reception of one of his soccer friends. Mark himself, looking smug in a light blue suit that matched his tanned skin. And a young woman, short and curvy, with a red dress and matching lipstick, Mark's arm around her waist, and her eyes drowning in his.
The pictures on the screen trembled, as Gemma's hold of her phone tightened almost painfully.
She couldn't look at it. With a sharp cry, she chucked the phone against the wall, and buried her face in the cushions.
"Ms Gemma?" She heard the faint noise of the door opening, bare feet entering with soft steps, the clink of a tray being placed on the night stand. "Ms Gemma, are you alright?"
A warm hand caressed her shoulder, and Gemma flinched. "No," she hissed. "No I'm not okay."
The mattress dipped next to her, and then Ira huddled against her, pulled her into a gentle embrace. The pet was taller than her, all soft muscle, and it was easy to just shut off the world and sink into the safety and comfort of its touch.
Usually.
Now, there was something nagging at the back of Gemma's conscious. Someone about the dark haired woman in Mark's arm, about their smiles and the sun and that deep sense of understanding.
Mark had gone out there, and found a person. Maybe a rebound, maybe more, but a person to be with. Gemma had isolated herself from the world, the one thing she had found solace in a mindless pet, programmed to please her.
Ira's lips brushed over the back of her neck, sending involuntary shivers down her spine. "I'm with you, Ms Gemma," it whispered.
How could you ever be, Gemma thought.
"Get my phone," she said. "It's by the wardrobe."
The pet got up - elegantly, of course, it always was, annoyingly so - and returned a moment later with the phone. "It... It's broken, Ms Gemma."
Gemma turned towards the pet and grabbed the phone from its hands. An ugly crack ran across the screen, rough under her touch, but it still worked. She'd have it fixed on Monday.
She opened her friends' messages and read them again. 'Let's go out tonight, Gem! We've missed you!'
They were right. She'd been pathetic. Forgetting the world out there, forgetting that she was a beautiful and successful young woman. She didn't belong in her bed all weekend, alone with her second hand toy. She should be wearing make up and flirting and dancing. And tonight, she would.
"Pet?" It had sunk to its knees on the hardwood floor next to the bed, gaze flying up to meet hers at the sound of her name.
Gemma's gaze wandered over its scars, some hidden under the flimsy nightgown, others standing out starkly against its tan skin.
She was better than Mark. She also was better than this.
"I'll have breakfast alone. I... have some things to figure out for myself. Go eat something in the kitchen."
The pet tensed, and Gemma almost rolled her eyes. She couldn't have any drama about these nutri loaves. "Have a yoghurt from the fridge," she added generously.
The pet stayed frozen, though, eyes wide with fear. "Ms Gemma, what... what did I do wrong? Have I been a bad pet?"
Gemma shook her head. "Bad, no. You've been good. A good pet, Ira, okay?"
Its name seemed to soothe it, and Gemma watched it nod and walk out of the room with that perfect small sway of its hips.
Tag list: @painful-pooch @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump @abitefullofwhump @whumpinggrounds @dragyouthroughthewhump
Cw for BBU, pet whump, dubcon kiss (aaaaahhh!!), referenced caning.
[Masterpost] [Part I] [< Previous] [Next >]
Clean yourself up.
The only clean clothes she'd be able to wear were the ones from the facility, oversized top and shorts. They were made to be wide enough to cover bruises and cuts, to be slipped into and out of even with sore muscles and aching bones.
She didn't want to wear them ever again. But she didn't matter; her rules did.
Don't be naked where Mark or I can see you.
The pet had broken the rule today, Ms Gemma's rules, more than once. She'd been bad. Horribly bad. She would make up for it. She'd be good. She had to be.
With shaking hands she reached out for the shirt. The clothes had been washed multiple times by now, and their smell had changed, the stench of the facility replaced by the odor of her new owners. No. Singular. Owner. Ms Gemma.
Mr Mark had left.
The pet closed her eyes, as she pulled the shirt over her bruised ribs, inhaled sharply at the wave of pain, but allowed Ms Gemma's smell to comfort her.
Ms Gemma was without Mr Mark now.
They'd said things to each other that the pet didn't understand - wasn't meant to understand; she was a pet after all, not a person. She thought that the argument had been about her, but at the same time, it hadn't been at all.
She wasn't even sure if the punishment had been about her, even though she'd certainly deserved it.
It wasn't up to her to judge. What was up to her was to be good. To be whatever Ms Gemma needed.
A caretaker. A listener. Or a punching bag.
The pet would be good.
The marks the cane had left on her burned and stung. She'd cleaned them, as good as she could. Most of them were just angry looking welts, just two or three might continue bleeding. The top was black, though, and the bleeding slow. It would take a while, for Ms Gemma to notice. That was best, the pet figured. Ms Gemma didn't seem to enjoy seeing traces of her actions.
She took some steps, careful and steady, figuring out where the pain sat on her ribs and how to still move fluid and elegant, and then stepped out to return to Ms Gemma and face her punishment.
-
She found her owner not in the bedroom, but on the narrow balcony next to it. Ms Gemma didn't even seem to take notice of her, neither of her steps approaching not of her sinking into Respect-position.
Ms Gemma was on her knees herself, next to a large black metal bowl. A pile of white fabric sat in it, and the pet squinted before she recognized it. It was the stripped bed sheets, stained with blood and cum, and there were tiny brown spots on it, next to blackened remains of matches.
Ms Gemma held another burning match in her hand, dropped it onto the pile. Both her and the pet watched in silence, as the flame shivered and died.
A strange noise rose from Ms Gemma, and it took the pet some seconds to understand that it was a garbled sob.
"It won't burn," her owner sobbed. "It won't burn, I want it gone, but why won't it burn?" She turned away from the pile of laundry to face the pet, and the pet almost flinched at the sadness in her eyes. "It doesn’t burn. I wanted it to burn. I wanted it to work."
The pet’s gaze shifted from her owner to the cool gray tiles in front of her. She should have pressed her forehead to the ground to hold position, show her submission, wait for orders. But she also needed to be good, needed to fulfill her owner’s needs, understand them without words.
Ms Gemma wouldn’t give orders. Ms Gemma wanted to forget.
The pet inched forward, crawled up to where Ms Gemma was cowering in her crumbled fine work suit. She had buried her face in her hands. Long ginger hair fell over her shoulders and hid her tears, but her shaking shoulders betrayed her easily
Carefully, the pet rested a hand on her owner’s arm. Ms Gemma froze, before she sobbed more loudly.
"I shouldn’t have hit you," she mumbled. "I shouldn’t have hurt you, pet, I’m sorry, you didn’t do anything. He’s the… he’s the asshole, you just couldn’t help it." She ran her hand through her hair, before she pushed it back and looked up at her pet, light, teary eyes, full of despair. Despair - and something else, something the pet knew inside and out. Need.
The pet smiled at her, soft and silent, and gently moved her hand up Ms Gemma’s arm. Her owner didn’t flinch this time. She gave in to the touch, closed her eyes, when the pet’s soft fingers brushed over her cheek.
"I…" Ms Gemma swallowed thickly. "Ira?"
"I’m yours," the pet replied. "I’m yours, and I’m here for you."
Ms Gemma put her own hand on hers, guided her hand towards her lips, and the pet followed.
Her owner’s lips were soft under her fingertips, trembling. Her grip around the pet’s hand tightened, and she pressed a tiny kiss to her fingertips. Then another. And another.
"Do you really love me, Ira?" She paused to look up at her. "Could they really make you love me?"
The pet - Ira, she was Ira again, and it made her both anxious and excited - cast her gaze down, looked up at Ms Gemma through her lashes. A little shy, very sincere. "Yes," she said quietly. "I have loved you from the first moment I saw you, Ms Gemma."
Ms Gemma laughed, a chortled, sad laugh, but music to Ira’s ears. Better than crying. Ms Gemma let go off her fingers and played with a strand of Ira's hair instead. Ira shivered. "That's insane," Ms Gemma whispered. "You really are a lovely thing, Ira."
Ira knew better than to speak. She just tilted her head and smiled, wistful and knowing, allowed the tears in her eyes at her owner's soft touch. She'd never looked at her like this.
Ms Gemma tucked the strand of her behind Ira's ear, but her fingertips lingered on Ira's temple for a moment. Ira let out a small breath, all but a moan, and Ms Gemma swallowed in reply and let her fingers follow the line of her cheekbone.
"I don't want to be alone," she said, two fingers tilting up Ira's face, light gray eyes searching for Ira's gaze.
"You aren't," Ira promised, and parted her lips.
"Good." Ms Gemma's lips met hers, hungry and needy, searching for something Ira knew she couldn't give - but what she did know was, how to make her forget.
On popular demand, and to give you a chance to say goodbye to a beloved character, have a final Mark PoV chapter.
Tag list: @painful-pooch @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump @abitefullofwhump @whumpinggrounds @dragyouthroughthewhump
Cw for BBU, pet whump, briefly referenced BBU-typical dubcon/noncon
[Masterpost] [Part I] [< Previous] [Next >]
Mark's key for the house had still worked, but the one to the apartment didn't fit any longer. It had been a bit more than a day, since he'd stormed out, but whatever one could say about Gemma - she was efficient.
With a short sigh, he rang the doorbell. Like a guest, in his own place. He could crash at his uncle's for a while, but it felt odd to not have a home. Not that he missed Gemma. He really didn't. He was free, finally, could do what he wanted, eat what he wanted, say what he wanted. She'd kept him in a prison, and it had taken the pet for him to realize he'd never been anything more to her either.
From the other side of the door, he heard someone shuffle, and he pressed the doorbell again, longer this time, just to annoy Gemma.
But it wasn't her, who answered the door a second later.
It was the pet.
Ira looked different. She was in a short white dress, white hair was tousled, a slight blush on her dark cheeks, lip swollen. She looked like seduction itself. Strange, to imagine Gemma allowing her to walk around like this. After she'd been so intent on beating her up for being... just like this.
"Ira," he said softly. "How are you?"
Straight, thin bruises shone on her skin, marks of Gemma's rage, drawn over her thighs under the hem of the short skirt, and on her upper arms.
She seemed to notice his gaze, and her hand wandered up, almost instinctively, to another bruise, around her neck. Long lined, almost black in colour, shaped like fingers. His fingers.
Mark bit his lip, and she tilted her head without a reply.
For a second, he understood it as a gesture of submission, but then he noted the packed bags by her feet.
"These are yours," she said. "Ms Gemma would like you to leave."
A quick glance was enough to tell him the content of the bags was far from everything he owned in this place.
"Well, Gemma can -" He interrupted himself. This was ridiculous. He didn't have to talk to her. "Gemma!," he shouted instead. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
He put a hand on Ira's hip to shove her aside and get past her and toward his stuff.
She didn't move. "No."
He cocked his head at her and looked her down. His hand was still resting on her thin dress, and he was all too aware of her soft, warm skin under it. "You're not meant to say no." He whispered into her hair, almost conspirationally. "We both know you want to be good."
"Not for you," She tensed under his grip, but still didn't step back. Somehow, she seemed taller than before. "I'm Ms Gemma's."
"Ms Gemma almost killed you."
"Ms Gemma is my owner. You're not." He was close enough to her to hear her quick breathing, to see her bruised throat bob as she swallowed, before she added. "You almost killed me, too."
Mark scoffed. "Come on, Ira. Did Gemma really paint me as the villain here?"
"Leave Ira alone, Mark, and just go." He caught a glimpse of Gemma's ginger hair behind Ira's shoulder, but Ira shifted to the side to block his way. Elegantly, as everything that fucking pet did. It was infuriating.
"Ira?", he repeated. "So you've bonded now? Oh, just perfect."
He looked at Ira again, her swollen lip and unusually messy hair, and finally understood.
"You've fucked the pet, Gem, haven't you? Oh, you're really so fucking simple. Constantly afraid of losing control, but with the pet, you'll always get your will. She better than me, huh? Because you never wanted a person in the first place, did you? Just obedience and a warm body? Fuck you, Gem, you know what, you've failed. You've-"
She dove under Ira's arm and appeared in front of him, jaw tense, face red with fury, finger raised at him like a tiny school teacher scolding a child. "You're the failure Mark, I don't even understand why I put up with you for so long. You're lazy and useless, just laid back and let me take care of-"
Enough. That was fucking enough. He reached out to grab her wrist and slam her into the wall.
He wasn't fast enough.
Ira's hand around his felt like steel. Pain flared through his shoulder as she twisted his arm almost effortlessly. Mark yelped and stumbled to his knees. Her hold of him was relentless.
"Fuck," he yelled. "Fuck, Gemma, call her off."
Gemma's eyes were wide in shock, but smoothed over with a smug satisfaction that he definitely never wanted to see again.
"In a minute," she mumbled, looking down on him. He could see three red rims around her eyes, salty traces of dried tears. "I like this."
New pain erupted in his strained shoulder. "Ira," he begged. "Ira, please, let go."
"You're pathetic, Mark," Gemma said softly, and stepped in, only to look down on him. With a frown, she ran her fingers down his cheek. "You shouldn't have been able to break my heart like that."
"Fuck, Gem, you-" He interrupted himself with a pained hiss. He shouldn't. He'd seen her angry. He didn't want to end up on the receiving end of that cane.
"What do you want, Mark? I packed your stuff."
"My…" He felt like an idiot, fucking humiliated by Gemma and Ira, of all people. Ira, who'd been so soft and warm to him, compared to Gemma who had felt like stainless steel and sharp edges. Now Ira was the steel one, holding him down with an iron grip. "My work stuff?"
Gemma tilted her head. "In there. Along with your potted plant. Well, without the pot. Tried to be efficient."
Mark bit back a sharp remark, cleared his throat instead. "My, uh… PlayStation?"
"Really, babe?" She laughed. "Your fucking PlayStation? After you disrespected me, and my things, what do you think I did to your own toy? It's in the trash."
"You did what?"
"Yeah. That's kind of exactly what I thought when I walked in on you fucking my pet, when you knew I didn't want you to."
The grip around Mark's arm tensed for a second, twisting his shoulder even further. "Ahhh", he whimpered. "Fuck, Gem, you can't let her break my arm."
"You're trespassing. It's self defense." Still, she gestured at Ira, and the hold of his arm was released.
Mark let out a relieved sigh, and rose back to a full stand.
Gemma lifted her chin. "Take your bags and leave, Mark. Don't come back."
He grabbed the bags. Sharp pain rushed through his right arm, and with clenched teeth, he threw the bag over his shoulder. "I won't."
He stepped out of the door, turning away just in time to see Gemma rest her hand on Ira's cheek, and the way the pet's face lit up when Gemma pulled her into a kiss.
The door fell close, cutting off the view. Instead, his gaze was caught by his old, wrong key still uselessly stuck in the lock.
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Cw for BBU, pet whump, nudity, referenced caning, referenced noncon/dubcon, but mostly this is relationship drama.
[Masterpost] [Part I] [< Previous] [Next >]
"What the fuck, Gemma?" Mark almost slipped on the wet floor as he lunged forward and caught the cane before it could rain down onto Ira again. "Are you insane?"
His girlfriend's eyes were glistening with tears, salty streaks on her cheeks. She didn't fight when he tugged at the cane, let go off it, and didn't even look down, when he dropped it to the ground.
He held her by the shoulders, fought the urge to shake her. She was trembling, eyes flat and cold, glued onto the naked pet on the bed.
"Thank you," Ira whispered, as if to herself. "Miss... Miss Gemma. Dis..." She gasped. "Dis... ah. Discipline is important for the balance and wellbeing of a pet."
Gemma didn't seem to hear her. "What did you do, Mark?" She asked flatly. "What did you do with my pet, in my bed?"
Mark looked at Ira, at the thin bloody lines over her breast and stomach. She was barely moving now, her breath flat, shoulders shaking. Her eyes were closed, as if she could just hide from the world like this.
She hadn't been like that just minutes before. She'd been good, perfect, without Gemma interfering and making it all about herself.
He'd just taken her, however he pleased - three or four times, he guessed, depending on how one would count it - and after her initial show of acting up she'd played along. She'd enjoyed it, too. Of course she had, it was her single purpose. If Gemma wouldn't give it to Ira, he would.
"The fucking question is what you just did! Did you really beat her up for serving her one single purpose?"
"I asked you not to touch it."
"And yet I did," Mark felt his hands curl into fists. "This is my place, too. You don't get to tell me what to do in my own home."
"I asked you to," she replied stubbornly. "I asked you for one single thing Mark, and that's to keep it in your pants for one afternoon. But I guess I don't mean anything to you."
"I... I fucking get it. You - you're jealous." Mark pushed her at arm's length, stared down at her. "You're jealous that I fucked the pet instead of you?"
"That's not -" Gemma began, but he couldn't bear her flat apathetic voice.
"You want us to have an actual sex life? You know what, try to actually come home from work at night, maybe, or to get rid of this stick you've got shoved up your ass. Maybe treat me like a person instead of a burden? Like I'm actually worth something? Guess what, then I might have wanted to fuck you instead of the dumb pet." He pointed at Ira. "She looks at me like I matter. Like I can be the center of her world, like my touch makes her happy. You? You look at me like you're sorry for me, like you're disappointed that even you, perfect Miss Gemma couldn't fix me."
Gemma still didn't look at him, just at Ira spread on the bed. "She... It said, it said no."
Mark scoffed in disbelief. "Well she's made to be fucking obedient. She said it for you, Gemma, because that dumb pet still finds it in her to love you, and wish to obey you. As if you could be loved. You can't be loved, Gem, but you know what? You deserve her. You can keep her. She's the only one who can stand being with you even if you're the cruel cold controlling bitch that you are. Because I..." He shrugged and stepped back. "I can't."
Gemma's head spun, clear eyes boring into his. "What the... What the heck, Mark. Are you - are you breaking up with me? You? You, the one who did every even remotely possible thing wrong? You have the audacity to think you're the one to break up? No. No, Mark, it's me, I'm in charge, and I -" She brought up her hands in fists, tiny, delicate fists, and he almost laughed at how ridiculous she was. How he couldn've had this little woman keep him prisoner in this relationship for so long.
"You what?" he teased.
The anger boiling up in her was cute to watch. He could see her gaze fly down to the cane. "Oooh, you're going to beat me up? Like you did her? No Gemma, you've lost this one. I'm out." He backed out, a wild thrill rushing down his spine. He was free. He was fucking liberated. It felt fantastic. "Have fun with her. She's amazing with her tongue. And she can make it all just about you, the way you like it, right?"
He grabbed his pants from the floor. Gemma was frozen in place, hands still balled into fists, face contorted between anger and disbelief.
"Fuck you, Gemma," he said softly, as he reached for the doorknob. "And if you feel too good to do it yourself, use her." He wondered, for a moment, if she would. Or if she'd beat her to death, insane as she was. He didn't care, he realized. As long as he was out of this.
"Bye."
He pulled the door shut behind him and stepped out of his life.
Tag list: @painful-pooch @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump @abitefullofwhump @whumpinggrounds
Cw for BBU, pet whump, lady whumpee and lady whumper, referenced noncon (male whumper), caning. All towards the scene’s end.
[Masterpost] [Part I] [< Previous] [Next >]
Despite Mark, despite his idiocy and dumb stubbornness and despite her own rightful anger, Gemma still was a professional. She'd cried in the car a bit, after she had pulled into the garage at work, granted, but then she'd pulled out her kohl pencil, adjusted the rear mirror, and fixed her eyeliner.
She'd aced her presentation. The numbers were flawless, her slides were well prepared, she'd been able to answer every question and even that stoic Richard from legal affairs had nodded in approval.
Anger was still seething under her skin, but it was slowly smothered by deep, exhausting disappointment. Gemma excused herself, asked for the afternoon off, and her bosses didn't ask. She listened to some variants of "Of course, you deserve it," and then she was outside again. She drove over to Vincent's Cafe, where for the first time she tried their Cherry Cake instead of her usual order. It had been great, even better than the chocolate cake. That wasn't the reason why she cried, though, despite what she told the waiter.
This time, she didn't bother fixing her make up in the car. She checked their joint bank account instead, hoping to see a second payment to Vincent's, desperately hoping Mark had had the common sense to go over there and buy her another piece of chocolate cake. Maybe not a piece, but a complete cake, and he'd say sorry and explain himself and she could forgive him.
There was no new transaction.
Of course there wasn't. Mark just had the emotional maturity of a five year old boy riding a plastic car.
Time to re-evaluate.
She couldn't just act like nothing happened. He probably would do just that, and think everything was alright, while she wanted him to understand he'd hurt her, and to do learn and do better. So the best thing would be to just leave the pet in its room, sit Mark down, and talk it through. She'd explain her job to him, the importance it held to her, and how he could support her. She'd be calm and reasonable. No crying, no shouting, no drama. Yes. She was a professional.
With her chin lifted, shoulders straight, she left the car and marched upstairs.
The apartment was quiet, when she entered. Marks shoes were still by the door where he'd kicked them off yesterday. Gemma nudged them under the shoe shelf with a frown. She'd told the pet to clean up such obvious things. It had done so well the past days. Today though it had been pretty oafish. At the end of the corridor, she could see the kitchen counter, dirty breakfast dishes still on it. Great. Pet was dumb, and Mark didn't even care enough to tell it what to do. She slipped out of her own shoes and pushed open the door of the guest bathroom. The mat the pet slept on and its few clothes were nearly folded and tucked away under the sink. The pet itself wasn't there.
It wasn't in the living room either.
Gemma felt anger boil up in her stomach again, and she welcomed it. Better than the cold dread spreading through her body. "Mark?", she called. "Pet?"
She opened the door to his office and peeked inside. His desk was a mess, as usual, but there were no discarded headphones on top of it, no used coffee mug. Didn't look like he'd worked here at all today.
"Mark?", she repeated.
Then she heard it, the sound of water running, from next door. The master bathroom.
She felt sick to the bone.
Her jaw clenched, and she had to force her hand open to touch the bedroom door and press down the handle, her other hand still balled into a fist.
She didn't know what she'd expected.
Not this.
The pet was laying on the bed, their bed. Her bed.
Her pet.
Naked. Bruised. Bleeding.
And sobbing, soundlessly, only its trembling frame and shaking shoulders betraying it.
Its hands were tied to the bedframe with the cuffs WRU had delivered it with, its neat white hair was a mess, its body covered in - oh, no, Gemma didn't even want to think about it.
"I...," the pet whimpered. "Ms Gemma, forgive me, I... I didn't want it, I said... no."
Stupid fucking lying romantic. Just as her friend Lily had said. They can't beat their training.
"You seduced him," Gemma said flatly. "You did this."
"Forgive me," the pet repeated. "I was bad, a pet bad for you, I deserve -"
Gemma had stuffed the plastic cane from the WRU box into the back of her closet, sure she'd never need it. She didn't know, how it ended up in her hand just so smoothly. All she knew was that this was wrong, everything was, and she had to make it right.
The cane hissed through the air, and the pet's words dissolved into a tiny pained moan, when the cane smacked across its stomach.
Tag list: @painful-pooch @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump @abitefullofwhump @whumpinggrounds @dragyouthroughthewhump
(Just one more chapter to go... Hope you enjoy!!)
Cw for BBU, pet whump, conditioned and messy whumpee mindset, dubcon stripping
[Masterpost] [Part I] [< Previous] [Next >]
"Smile, Ira." She did. It wasn't much effort, these days. Ms Gemma was pleased with her, and Ira was so happy, it made her stomach hurt sometimes. "Turn your head to the side? Perfect."
Yesterday, Ms Gemma had been out with her friends. She had been a little different that day, irritated and emotional, and Ira had been stressed, too. She hated being alone, without her owner. Still, it was better being alone by herself than being alone with Mr Mark, she'd told herself. It wasn't appropriate for a pet to judge her owners, but Ms Gemma insisted that Mr Mark had never actually been her owner; and Ms Gemma hated him so deeply that Ira decided it might be okay for her to dislike him in her own right.
"Chin up," Ms Gemma said and snapped another photo. Her voice was a little hoarse. Ira suspected it was due to the hangover. She'd prepared some pills and isotonic drinks for Ms Gemma in the morning, and then they'd shared fries for lunch, which Ms Gemma would usually never do. Ira had liked it a lot.
"Strip."
Ira tilted her head and cast Ms Gemma a coy smile, before she took the seam of her dress and slipped it off in one slow, languid motion.
"Oh wow," Ms Gemma whispered. "That was lovely. Wait, do it again, I'll make a video."
Ira repeated it with ease, shy smile, downcast gaze, fluid movements, a sequence of motions and gestures deeply ingrained in her. She'd trained it to perfection. Good pet.
Gemma sighed contently. "Sweet. Yes, that'll do nicely. They'll love it."
Ira blushed a little, a little learned, a little genuine. It didn't matter who "they" were, she reminded herself. The only thing that mattered was her owner's approval.
She ran her hands down over her sides, fingers brushing over her breasts, her belly, until her thumbs hooked into her lace panty. She looked at Ms Gemma, while she rolled her hips and slid the panty down slowly.
"Oh, oh no," Ms Gemma hurried to say and slipped the broken phone into her pocket. "No this is not porn! It's enough, Ira!"
Ms Gemma stepped forward and pulled up the panty again. Her hands lingered on Ira's hips for a second, warm and gentle and Ira couldn't help but moan softly. Ms Gemma was so beautiful. It felt so good to be touched.
"You are truly precious, aren't you?" Ms Gemma whispered, and ran her hands up over her, following the lines of her scars. When she fondled her breasts, Ira's head fell back and she closed her eyes, ready to give in to whatever her owner wanted.
Gemma's hand wandered up over her sternum, until it met the collar. "I didn't, at first, but I can see how people pay money for this."
"I'm made to fulfil your every desire," Ira mumbled, desperate for more touch. "Please, Ms Gemma. Allow me to please you."
"Later." A finger hooked into her collar, and Ms Gemma pulled her down to press a short kiss onto her lips. "I'll have to finish some transaction on my computer first. But we'll cuddle after."
Ira fought back her disappointment when Ms Gemma pulled back and tried to focus on the lingering memory on her lips.
"Yes, Ms Gemma. What... What do you want me to do until then?"
Ms Gemma went down to pick up the discarded dress to hand it back, taking her body in with another appreciative look. "Get decent and then, well, whatever pets do to relax. I have no need for you. Just... Enjoy yourself."
Ira frowned and gestured vaguely between her legs. "En... Enjoy myself like...?"
"Hell, no! Gross. No. Read a book or watch TV, or..." She ran a hand through her ginger hair and Ira winced at her impatience, tried to calm her heartbeat. Everything was fine. "Whatev, I'll just turn something on for you."
Ira nodded nervously. She felt her owner's eyes on her, more thoughtful than usual. "You so peculiar, Ira. You know what? I might even miss you a little."
Ira bit her lips. That was wrong. She should miss her owner, not the other way around. "I can.... I can come to the office with you?"
For some reason, that made Ms Gemma chuckle and ruffle Ira's hair. "Not like this, bab-, pet. Just wait here and be good, alright?"
Ira nodded eagerly and sat down on the edge of the couch.
