it starts small, like anything in life.

from regular orders, to a simple “come here” or “stay” for seemingly random times and places. it's not like she does anything after you follow her orders, either; the ever-pragmatic director just keeps working on whatever needs to be done until it is. then, she looks at you, and seems just a little satisfied when you're still standing in place exactly where she asked you to.

lately, though, it's been getting a bit... weird. she'll tell you to stay close to her at all times, even when nothing of note is happening. when there's nobody that's suspicious, no assassination attempts happening, she still commands you just a little closer. you don't think she's particularly scared of getting killed, but maybe it's just her human instinct. it's bound to come out after months of living on a ship sailing further and further away from humanity.

you just do what the director asks of you; it's not a particularly difficult job. even if she never explains herself, you assume there has to be a valid reason for someone like her, so you don't question it anymore. the pay is great, and the director is just a little peculiar, but far kinder than some of your other clients and bosses.

she makes use of you, and that's it. whatever her purpose, it's your job to simply do as she asks and deliver what she needs.

so, like on any other night, you don't think twice when she commands you to come over to her. you go from your corner in her office to the director herself in four steps, and expect to wait until her work is done.

you definitely aren't expecting her to yank you down to one knee by your tie.

you don't stumble, just accept it, but you make a noise that she almost laughs at. she isn't smiling, not really, but you've learned her tells by now. the little cracks in her mask always slip, this late at night.

anyway, back to... whatever this is?

it's strange? yes, very. it's new and confusing, too. overall, a great mix.

but the action doesn't strike you as bad.

so you wait.

the director turns back to her tablet and taps away. you fix your tie and collared shirt, then clean up your position, arms interlocked and your back straight. you decide to just look forwards, rather than tilting your head whichever way to look at either the director or the floor. the view is fine, just her legs and the underside of her desk. you can see out the window, too, if you tilt your head just a little.

it feels like you're someone who's proposing to their uninterested partner, honestly. she isn't paying you any mind at all despite her prior actions. but okay, if this somehow helps her concentrate, fair enough, you suppose. it's perhaps the strangest thing she's done, but she's a bit of a strange person in general and she has too much work to do for you to try and make it harder on her.

luckily for you, it's already getting late. the director usually doesn't stay up past four in the morning, so at most, you'll have about three hours to go. no interruptions, either, since everyone else cares a bit more about sleep than work. you'll stay on guard of course, since the night is prime-time for trouble, but you're not particularly worried.

you tilt your head up to watch her work. her hands smoothly move between screens and papers that contain only the most secret of information. she signs her name on various contracts and reports, and at this point, you think you could recognise her signature just from the sound alone.

the pen's sounds are nice to listen to, when you've got nothing else. the deep rumble of the ship is background noise that you largely ignore now, along with it's sailing through the arctic water. it's just like hearing breaths, now.

speaking of which, the director lets out a particularly annoyed sigh that you tilt your head at. she rubs her eyes and turns to you. “fetch me a coffee.” ah, so that's it. she doesn't want her frail human body to act human, is all. fine.

you nod and attempt to stand upright again, but she reaches out her hand and keeps you down. “i don't remember saying you could leave that position.”

you have to actually pause to make sure you're hearing her right. “well, you implied it.” she shakes her head, loosening her hold on you but not letting go. you're starting to believe this is just her attempt at entertaining herself after hours of mind-numbing work. you take a deep breath, not letting the annoyance show on your face.

“may i stand up in order to get you your coffee?”

she actually thinks about it for a good few seconds, before eventually nodding and letting go of you. “go ahead.”

“thank you.” you give your legs a quick stretch and head out, wondering if she might have you kneel down again when you get back. the thought isn't unpleasant, honestly. you're not in any pain thanks to the carpet, and you know the director would never let you get hurt. it'd interfere heavily with your job, after all. she can be playful, but always values being professional above all else.

you reach the kitchen in no time, and give the lone chef your lady's coffee order. you lean against a wall while you wait, scanning for any trouble. like usual, it's silent. despite how detached from humanity everyone on the ship is, they still stay respectful towards eachother and prioritise the mission over personal grudges. you're incredibly thankful, honestly. less headaches are always a blessing. even during the day, everyone just acts normal.

“coffee.” you hear, and turn to see the chef with a cup in hand. you nod and take it, giving a quick “thanks” and walking off. he just makes a grunt to acknowledge you, and you hear him fiddling with a pan before you close the door. hopefully this is the last coffee tonight. you give the director's office a few knocks on the door when you eventually reach it. “madam.”

“come in.”

you walk in, lock the door behind you, and set the coffee down next to the director. you go back to your prior position, and it only takes you a second to realise why she's smiling down at you. “eager, much?”

her smile is very pretty, you have to acknowledge. “i just assumed you wanted me here, again. or was i mistaken?”

she brings the cup of coffee into her hands, and drinks a third of it. “not at all. stay.”

fetch, stay, what's next—bark?

...

you have to stop yourself from actually doing it.

—

“tightening security includes... this?”

she just nods casually. “why would i take any chances?”

oh, whatever. you resist rolling your eyes and see what the director's personal bed quarters has to offer. it's been two days since the lead engineer nearly got murdered, and that was enough for the director to decide you needed to be by her side at all times. even when she's in her room.

honestly, it's cuter than you would've imagined. there's not many items to look at, but she's got a few souvenirs from around the world. plenty of job-related things, too, but you mostly focus on—

oh.

that's definitely private.

you turn your head back to the director, who's working diligently at her desk, and force your face to remain neutral. you did not just see anything inappropriate. everything is fine. you're doing your job, which means being a hundred percent focused.

of course, the director always knows when something's up. she stares at you for a few seconds, then moves two fingers to signal you to come over. you swiftly forget about the item and get close to her. maybe she wants another drink? but she wouldn't delegate that task to you if there are others around to take care of it. “yes, madam?”

she hooks her fingers around your tie, and pulls you to your knees, “down”, she tells you lowly. you go without resistance, and clean yourself up like usual. instead of just going back to work, though, she moves her hand to rest on the back of your head, and pushes you towards her thigh. your head comes to rest on her leg.

you're about to ask her “what the fuck” when you feel a hand playing with your hair absentmindedly, then landing behind your ear and scratching gently there, before stopping again. when she turns to her tablet, her focus on work doesn't waver, so you're left to be confused on your own. like always, you suppose.

it's fine. you're definitely not just okay with this because of the head scratches — it's... a nice plus, is all. that's really all. the director is a strange woman, so if she needs to keep her hand busy to focus, so be it. she's typing fine with just one hand, occasionally stretching it to reach the keys that are far away.

her hand looks unblemished, you pridefully note. all of the late-night massages you'd insisted on leave it uncallused. her fingers are slender, nails trimmed and clean. her other hand starts twirling your hair around a few fingers, again. you realise the path your thoughts are going towards and quickly duck your head to stare at the only thing you can; her leg. you're almost pressing yourself against it to escape your own brain, but decide you're not that stupid.

you're just not going to think about anything except your job description. "protect and obey eva stratt", it probably said. you can't remember the exact wording of the contract, but it's something like that. okay, there's nobody currently aiming for her head. that part's covered.

the director uses her hand to tug on your hair, trying to tilt your head back up. suddenly you feel very strongly about doing not that.

she lets out a hum.

please don't fire me, you ask telepathically. she responds by keeping her hand steadily on you, but doesn't go further. your employment is safe for another day, maybe?

she continues typing emails, schedules, and looks over various documents that have been sent to her today. you just breathe and make sure you're fully calm before even thinking of moving.

okay, okay. you move your head upwards, returning to watching the director work. she pauses. when you feel a few scratches behind your ear, she starts up again. it feels nice. her hands are pretty and treating you softly, so there's no fault in thinking it's relaxing. nothing weird about it, either, plenty of (other) humans like getting scratches like this, right? surely.

her hand moves from your ear to the top of your head, where she gives you a few pats and strokes her thumb across your hair. you force yourself to keep quiet. you're not going to weird her out by making any noises; you've both got jobs to do. she's just... making yours a little bit harder. ever so slightly. which is fine.

you'll just ignore the weird feelings bubbling up, ignore her weird actions, and ignore the little object you'd s— nope! nope! out of your brain, it goes! be ignored!

you'll keep your head up, face unaffected, and your hands still. it shouldn't be hard to focus just on the positives of this, right? the comfort, the safety. it's very nice, you admit.

you really are thankful that the director is your boss. she cares about you, of course, and gives you whatever you need to carry out your harder tasks. in return, you're loyal to her like nobody else.

...the scratches do feel really good. your eyes droop, just a little, and you allow yourself to relax for once. you'd done every check you needed, like every other day, and there was no cause for concern. so, you'll lean into her hand, just this one time. it won't hurt.

you feel a bit tired, but a voice that you recognise as the director's is calling your name.

you blink. one, two, five times in quick succession.

you're leaning with your face against her leg. you practically jump off after realizing.

“y—yes, madam?” you offer your best shot at a stable voice. she's looking down at you, amused, and brings a hand to scratch under your chin. “is my dog falling asleep, while on duty?” she tuts at you.

dog? oh come on. “forgive me, director. i was... distracted. i promise to do better in the future.”

“hmm...” she stares at you. you feel her hand creeping back towards your neck. “yes, you will. i'll make sure of it.”

you're very nervous to ask how, but you don't need to; she answers the question before you can pose it by bringing her thumb to your lips, and holding your chin up with the rest of her hand. “open.”

you breathe and open your mouth slightly, and she pushes her thumb in as soon as there's enough space. when you let out a choked sound she presses down on your tongue and rubs it slowly, as if soothing you. she looks at the time on her laptop. she closes it without a second thought, strangely, so you quickly glance at the clock above her door to understand what she's thinking. 03:46.

you can taste the sweetness of the dessert she ate earlier. she insisted on it to nobody in particular, as a reward for all her hard work lately. rarely did she actually care about herself, so each time she brought it up, you agreed, only a little curious when she'd seemed happily surprised at the taste. now you could agree again that, yes, it was worth waiting until the end of the day for. does she want you to clean off the residue?

“i was right. you are very pretty like this.” she says casually, nodding lightly to herself and tilting your head up to see your face better. you barely resist the urge to close your eyes or look away. she turns her body so she's facing you and uses her free hand to return to her earlier motions; scratching softly wherever she reached.

your gaze follows her hand, giving little kitten licks to her thumb. she seems happy with you, so you get just a little braver and actually do your best to clean the sugar off, wrapping your tongue around her finger and sucking.

she's staring at you, you notice, when you bring your eyes back to her. rather intensely, at that.

you can work with that.

you bring your hand to hers, and push her thumb further into your mouth. you hold her hand from below, gently, massaging at the various muscles that she tends to strain. she's stilled. so you keep going.

eventually, she pulls her digit from you and cleans it off with her handkerchief. you won't ever admit the loss feels just a bit sad.

she has you sleep in her bed. it's at least king-sized, so neither of you are touching. you're not sure if you're glad about that or not.

—

you click on your watch to start a five-minute timer, and set it down nearby. the faucet gets turned on, temperature set to high, and you quickly shower yourself in the hot water.

you're still panting from your workout, but you're calming down. you squeeze some shampoo onto your palm and scrub your scalp clean with it. there's a loud knock on the shower room door.

you resist groaning. you rinse your hair, turn the shower off, and clothe yourself in a towel. you open the door to a familiar face; one of the director's fellow bodyguards. he's quick to speak, “ms. stratt wants to see you.”

you give him a look. “is it urgent?”

he shrugs and just moves his head in the direction of the door. you get the hint, so he leaves as quickly as possible. at least he has manners.

you can shower again later, probably. at least you had two minutes. you dry yourself off for the most part, and put on the t-shirt and pair of sweatpants you'd brought along. a bit unprofessional, but that's not your fault. normally you'd have thirty minutes of free time after this, but alas, duty calls.

you pack your items into a sports bag and sling it over your shoulder, hurrying over to the director's office. since it's not ten o'clock yet, she's not going to be in her room. you do your best to shake off the leftover water droplets from your hair on the way.

you give the door your usual knock. “director, you wanted to see me?”

surprisingly, she opens the door herself and nods. “yes.”

she's only a little caught off-guard at your outfit. she sees the wet hair and bag and puts it together. “ah, so that's what took you. come in.”

she leads the way to her chair, and you kneel down next to her after setting your bag down. you'd really like to know what this is about, but impatience isn't a quality the director appreciates.

she digs through a drawer on her left, and tells you to close your eyes. a gift, then? you're appreciative, but was it that much of an emergency?

you let go of the thought and close your eyes, listening to what you swear sounds like a hard and some other, softer material, but it's not very easy to tell. she tilts your head upwards. is it food? you'd like a trea—snack. a snack.

you feel her hand wrapping around your neck like usual, but something joins it. it closes around your throat with a click, and you suddenly become very aware of what it is.

a collar.

it feels comfortable on your skin, just tight enough to stay in place but not to constrict. you open your eyes when she pauses and, yes, it's definitely a collar.

the director puts two fingers under it, and decides she needs to click it tighter. she's looking at you perfectly normally, like this is all very regular between friends or whatever your relationship is. you swear it's not. you try to convince yourself that, hey, this is weird?, but you can't bring yourself to care that much. the collar just feels right.

you bring a hand up to feel it. you run it along the sides, slide a finger underneath, and vaguely think you like the accessory. you feel letters carved into the inside, and pause to understand what it says. you carefully feel each letter. it's a short word, thankfully. it says...

stratt.

she sees when you realise it. she tilts her head with a smile, her gaze questioning how you feel about it. you don't know how to answer, so you just drop your hand back to your lap and don't. she keeps staring at you like you're a lab rat.

it's definitely not attractive.

realizing you're not going to be able to avoid speaking, you do your best attempt at your usual, neutral tone. “thank you for the gift, director.”

she nods, “i have twenty minutes of free time, now.”

ah, that's good for her. she doesn't get much of that. “would you like to sleep? i would, of course, watch over you.” you try to remember what she needed to do after. a virtual meeting, you recall. one she'd been particularly dreading. but at least she can have those in her personal room. “i wouldn't mind transporting you, either, so you could get as many minutes of rest in as possible.”

she just shakes her head, the smile never leaving her face. “no thank you. i'd like to spend my time differently.”

you tilt your head and remember not to pout. okay, so do that? i'd like to use my free time, too...

you hear a click. not from your collar, this time, though. soon, a light vibration starts, too. you're just kind of confused until the director reveals her masterplan.

she clicks again and the vibration stops. out of her pocket, she takes out—

oh. the same little device you'd turned away from in her room, days earlier. what does she even want with it? does she want to use it on herself, and have you stand guard outside the door? or does she want you to use it on her, or just watch or oh god does she want to use it on you?

“this should be plenty entertaining.”

okay, so definitely the last option. you feel a rather strong sense of doom at the thought.

she lets the vibrator drop in front of you and puts the small remote into her hand. “fetch.” she speaks in such a way that it feels mocking and sincere at the same time. you just swallow and pick it up, staring at it. it's a dark red, like you remembered. has she... used it on herself, before?

you don't give yourself the chance to wonder and grow even more embarrassed. okay, just take off your pants in front of madam stratt, no big deal at all...

you place a thumb in-between your skin and sweatpants, dragging them down just enough to pool around your knees. you look back up at the director to confirm this is what she's asking for and that you're not being an insane pervert. you regret it after two seconds; she's gazing at you like you built the gates of heaven. you look back down.

you carefully reach to your underwear, and pull it down, too. the director interrupts.

“put those back on, after. they're cute.”

her voice is seriously going to kill you. but you pull your panties up anyway once you've positioned the vibrator, just because she asked. your hands squirm and interlock on your lap. she brings her free hand to your face and forces eye contact. “fix your posture, darling.”

“y—yes, madam.” you force out the words, and straighten your back. your hands join together behind you, and your legs get back into the perfectly symmetrical position she expects of you. she hums, and gives you a few soft scratches behind your ear. you just barely don't lean in, “t—thank you, mada—ngh!”

click.

“dogs don't speak, do they?”

your breathing turns heavy, suddenly feeling every sensation very strongly. the vibrator is on, and god, what setting is that? it already feels like you're hurrying to an orgasm. but you make yourself stay still, and try your best to avoid making any noise. you can't even say sorry, so you just nod.

it only works a little, and you release a deep breath after the vibrations lower to a much more manageable level. is she planning on being that mean the entire time? you think you'll drop dead, if yes. but happily.

she leans down and lifts your shirt to just below your chest. she follows the lines of your abs slowly. she starts near your underwear, then patiently goes up to just below your bra. then she starts low again, tracing each and every line of your muscles with hyper focus. you blame their sensitivity on your prior work out.

it seems her hand gets tired. her fingers slips on the remote, and you're letting out a humiliating noise before shutting up when you feel the arousal quickly building again. “hold that,” she gives your shirt a quick tug, letting it fall back down.

you reach out a hand to do as she's asked, but she tuts at you, and clicks. you think this is the highest setting the vibrator can go, but you aren't going to bet on it. you bite your thumb to keep quiet, other hand digging into the ground behind you.

she clicks again, turning it down to maybe one third. “i don't remember paws being so flexible, puppy. use your mouth, okay?”

you take a second to calm down, but nod. you quickly bring your shirt up to your mouth and bite down on it. at least it'll muzzl— muffle! muffle your noises. “hm, good girl.”

she pets you on the head, whispering teasing and soothing remarks while watching and continuing to draw lines on your body. when you start feeling the tight knot in your stomach, you realise you can't really ask her if it's okay to just finish on her floor. either she says that dogs don't speak, or she'll comment on you releasing your shirt. or both.

you make a sort of hum sound and tilt your head downwards to hint at it, but your constant squirming has probably given it away already. she doesn't let you off easy, of course.

“what's that, pup? if you want to cum, you'll have to ask.”

so are you allowed to speak, then? you doubt it. she doesn't turn back on her word like that. so, what else can you do to—

ohh.

well, you could bark.

is it worth it, though? would it be worth your pride and sanity? you think you'll go insane if you can't finish though, and you're already close to rock-bottom in terms of pride. but, come on! barking!? that's... kind of hot, somewhere in your deeper thoughts, sure. but way too much!

you bite your tongue.

the director hums. “last chance, honey.”

you let out a small whimper, but refuse.

the buzzing stops with another click.

you lean against her desk and let your shirt fall out of your mouth, trying desperately to catch your breath.

you hear another click, but no vibrations. instead, there's a pull on your collar. she's probably trying to get you to fix your position again, but you can't feel her finger. you open your eyes to an honest-to-god leash. she's wrapped the end of it around her hand, and is pulling you towards her. you breathe and lay your head on her knee.

she sets the remote down and holds onto your hair, tightly. “have you decided to disobey me, dog?” the word sounds like venom from her mouth. gone is the cute puppy nickname, back is the mocking tone.

you shake your head.

“but you did.”

i'm sorry. she clicks on the remote again, now back to its maximum level. you moan, ducking your head down, but she forces you back up with a harsh tug at the back of your head. “this could've been so much easier, but you decided to be bad. so now, you won't get to cum at all.”

seriously? come on, that's unfair— you did everything else right! you can already feel the orgasm coming up, and let out a real whine when the director just gives you a pitiful look. “you know how to be good for me, don't you?”

you're going to die if you don't get to cum. so fine, she wins. you glare at her, bringing your hands up next to you like paws. you're embarrassingly quiet, but you can't bring yourself to care.

“w—woof.”

the hold on your hair is gone. she just gives you gentle scratches and pets, now. “very good, puppy. see? you can be so good for me. now, ask me properly, like you should've in the first place.”

you give up the glaring and get louder, hands grabbing at her pants. “woof!”

she leans down to give you a kiss on the forehead. “what a good girl. okay, you can cum.”

it feels like your body giving up when you do. it's amazing, and strong, and overwhelming. you think you make some obscene noise, but you can't tell. you lean on stratt's legs for stability, and she wipes the few tears falling down from your eyes softly. you grab at her hand when the vibrator keeps going, and you hear it click off. she's speaking, you think. you try to focus.

“good, you're being very good for me, darling. there there, it's alright, i've got you. my good girl.”

she's cooing softly at you, pressing kisses to your head and running her hands through your hair. you could fall asleep here so easily, but...

“y—you haven't finished, yet.” you force out. your voice is still trembling, but better. she keeps up her soft actions, taking a pause before speaking.

“four... hm, okay. come here, puppy.”

she tugs the leash towards her lap. you climb onto her, about to take off your underwear and give her the little red device to help her out, but—

“keep them on.” she undoes the button on her pants, and pulls the zipper down. “you'll be good for me again, won't you?”

a click. a familiar, overwhelming buzz.