[TRIGGER WARNING] I’ve never written a piece with a trigger warning before. This piece actually upsets ME quite a bit. I debated whether or not to put it online… To be honest, it was a bit shocking to discover that I was capable of describing this kind of situation and I wasn’t sure about putting it out there in a place where my parents (who raised me well) will see it.

To give context to the piece, It was written shortly after Roe Vs. Wade was revoked, largely due to the fact that I can’t understand a world where my daughter now has less control over her body than I have historically had.

I hope my readers won’t think less of me after reading it. While this incredibly horrifying reality the character in this story is dealing with seems far-fetched, so did “The Handmaid’s Tale” and many have seen striking resemblances to that reality to the modern day… so stay alert. Rights must not be taken for granted.

By all appearances, the man walking toward me and my owner looks harmless, professional even. He is wearing a three-piece gray suit, freshly pressed and sports an expensive hair style that cuts like a knife. He is likely a Wall Street type as he casually carries a briefcase in one hand and a tablet in the other–he appears important in a non-descript way. And in all honesty, he is normal for my world. The problem is, I have lived a life before this version of reality and I will never get used to the fact that any man can force me to do things. Things I would never do if I were not under the impression that I would be placed in jail or killed on the spot. 

This man stops in his tracks and addresses my owner. My owner used to be called my husband, but he took all too well to his new title when the courts changed my status to pet.

“That’s a pretty little pet,” says the man in the gray suit. 

“Thank you, she’s mixed breed.” 

“I like her coloring and her mouth. You’re lucky finding one so young. I bet that mouth is worth the cost of keeping her alone.”

“Oh yeah, she’s a champion at sucking, but also, she’s very tight. I actually purchased a little gadget to check her tightness each night. It lets me know if she’s slacking on her Kegal training. Can’t have a pet with a loose pussy. They’re pretty worthless at that point.”

“Do you mind if I try her out? I’ve been considering switching breeds. I have a little bitch of my own at home and she’s very well mannered, but I wish she made more noise when I fucked her…she’s also a little too servile. I like a bit of fight in my pets. I used to raise Pitbulls and I have to say, I miss the spirit. Breaking them gets me hard.”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry, but if you’d like I’ll have her blow you. It should only take a few minutes. She’s trained well.”

My owner takes out a leash, though I am typically allowed to be off-leash, and puts it around my neck securely. The leash is a low-profile electric collar and if I attempt to hurt anyone with my teeth, he will use it. He then yanks me toward a park bench when he congenially asks the man to sit down. The stranger undoes his belt and lets his pants fall down to his ankles. He sets his briefcase and tablet next to him and sits with his hands behind his head, waiting. 

“Nina, knees.”

I fall to my knees in front of Mr. Wall Street and hesitate just for a moment. 

“Nina, mouth.” 

I open my mouth obediently and take the tip of his penis into it. He clearly isn’t as clean as I would like. The summer day has made him taste sour and despite myself, I blanche. My owner gives a slight pulse to the collar.

“Nina, suck, now. We don’t have all day.”

I begin to cry as I take the whole of the member deep down into my throat. The man above me groans. 

“God, she is good at this. Would you ever sell?”

“I don’t think so. She is a bit wild given that she was a wife before, but in general, she’s a good pet.” He tousels my hair, almost affectionately.

The man's hand reaches toward his case, unsnaps it, and pulls out a business card.

“Please let me know if you ever reconsider.”

I can tell the man is close because he is starting to become aggressive. After handing the card over, he grabs my hair and begins to forcibly up the speed and intensity of the sex act I am performing. By the time he cums, he has pushed his cock so far back into my throat that I have no choice but to swallow, hard. He pulls out and sighs. 

“Good girl.”

My owner is not satisfied. “You can’t go back to work like that! Make her clean off the rest. I can’t have her going soft on me.”

The stranger nods to my owner and then gestures to his crotch. “Bitch, lick.”

I lick. He pulls his pants up and hands my owner a $20. “For your kindness, sir.”

“Thanks!”

“Up, Nina.” 

I stand, still crying. 

“Wipe your face, you dirty mutt.”

I wipe my tears as best I can. We then proceed to walk away. I would like to say that this is an anomaly, but my owner shares me whenever someone asks. The law is simple these days. Any man can force any pet, formerly, a woman, to do anything at any time. The only way to get out of something like that is to have your owner refuse. Some men are possessive and reserve services for themselves, but mine is known as a kind man. I hate kind men.

Even before the new laws were put into place, I had a controlling husband. The difference was, that I would escape on a girls' weekend or just ignore him when I wasn’t his property. After all, I made more money than him (a point he never ceased guilt-tripping me about) and I was much better positioned. 

He worked as a bank teller and I was the CMO of the bank where he worked. Our paths rarely crossed, but unfortunately for me, they did do so at lunch, initially. From an ill-fated lunch date sprung what seemed like a dream relationship that became a strange relationship and then, degraded to a much less appealing, half-life. 

It started small. The laws were slow-acting to allow the female population to feel less threatened. The courts took away the right to have an abortion first…said they were giving it to the states, which didn’t end well for anyone. 

Then they came after birth control, which made many working women became forced stay-at-home moms. After that, the status changes occurred. 

At first, we were designated as house servants. We were to serve men as cleaners, cooks, and of course, childcare providers, without question. Most of us were not happy about that, but surprisingly, a small portion defended a man’s right to be the man of the house. That was a mistake because soon after, further acts went into place to change our status again. 

One particular Senator, who had previously been accused, but not proven guilty of multiple rapes, introduced legislature wherein women should also serve men sexually. His reasoning was that sex workers worked in hospitality, and if women were already serving in other ways, they should be fully utilized. Men shouldn’t have to pay repeatedly for sex. That was outrageous! UnAmerican! The act passed unanimously. 

Once that act had been realized, other small laws went into effect that changed things even further. A new Senator looking to make his mark argued that if women were to reach their maximum potential, they would need to be trained, and by definition, training implies a pet or an animal. That seemed too far-fetched to most, but it was passed packaged with other legislation covertly…and so it went. 

Marriages didn’t change immediately. Men were not used to the power initially. For me, it happened one night when I was not interested in having sex. My husband entered the bedroom with the intent of trying something new. Something I hadn’t wanted to do. 

“Let’s spice things up. I want to backdoor you.” 

The terminology he had used turned me off more than I could possibly imagine. I told him in no uncertain terms that I was tired and beyond that, I wasn’t interested in exploring…uncharted territory. 

“It’s my right you know.” He said it with a bit of a chuckle, but there was an undeniable seriousness underneath the words. 

My face fell. “I don’t want to.”

His tone hardened. “Am I going to have to train you?”

I shrank back. “What do you mean?”

“Are you going to be a good pet or will you need obedience training?” 

“What the hell, Tim?” I moved to leave the room. He blocked the exit.

“Get on the bed and take off your clothes.” 

“No.”

He moved quicker than I thought possible and up came his hand, striking me hard across the face. I tried to run, but he forced me down and ripped my clothes off. He pushed me onto my stomach and wrenched my panties off. Then, he entered me in a way and with a fervor, he never had before. 

I screamed and screamed. Each time I yelled, he forced himself deeper into me and struck me. When he finally came, he remained inside of me and stroked my hair saying over and over again, “good bitch”. That was the moment when I knew that I would never be human again. 

Still, other pets have it worse than I do. There are pounds now. Pets who have repeatedly disobeyed their owners that the owners are not interested in correcting are sent there. A pound is a place where men can buy pets, but many stay there for years being used nightly by the guards. The police repeatedly say that the guards are doing “God’s work” by housing these pets no one wants. What they are actually doing is getting their dicks wet whenever they want, for free. 

When a pet is adopted, it is considered an act of mercy, and no background checks are run. Some men think of themselves as collectors. They adopt droves of women, keep them in cages, and fuck them whenever they want. They are fed kibble like dogs. 

My day is quite formulaic. In the morning I am to wake my owner by riding his morning wood and provide a satisfactory fake orgasm, because, in his eyes, just the gift of his penis should make me cum. If I do not wake him in that manner, I am not fed and I am beaten. 

Once he is satisfied, he takes me into the shower with him where he delights in cleaning me intimately. He often rallies and is able to fuck me again in the shower. He keeps Viagra in the bathroom cabinet so that even if he can’t climax, he can force himself inside me for several hours, knowing it hurts. I am constantly raw. 

While he is at work (he has since found work outside of the bank by founding a pet obedience school where he is able to assault not just me, but hundreds of pets in the name of training), I am kept on a leash, digitally and sometimes physically (physically, the shock collar is placed on my neck so that he can torture me throughout the day while watching me writhe in pain on camera). There is also a zap line around our house, so I am not ever allowed outdoors. Each day I am left a list of chores, including ones that help me stay tight. If I do not complete them at the standard he makes up that day, I am beaten. 

When he returns from work, I am to be waiting, naked and on my knees at the front door. He will ask me if I have been a good girl and will immediately drop his pants. I then give him head. After he finishes, I make him dinner (I would stab him, but the cameras have automatic triggers that alert law enforcement). I am to remain on my knees next to him while he eats. He feeds me scraps and occasionally forces me to give him another blow job under the table. Two treats at once. 

When dinner is complete, he has me clean everything up and then has me go wait in the bedroom. He then checks that I am still tight with his device. If I haven’t done enough Kegels, I am beaten. 

Either way, I am then fucked repeatedly, until he feels tired. Depending on his mood, I am either locked in a cage at the foot of his bed with a vibrator inside of me so that I moan all night (he says the sound soothes him), with no respite or, I am tied down next to him with ropes so that he can have me throughout the night. 

If I’ve been especially good (by his definition) this monotony is broken up by walks, but as stated previously, walks bring about unwelcome experiences like the one I first described. So either my owner has me or someone else does. I am always someone’s toy. 

And why would I put up with this you ask? A college-educated, formerly well-off woman? The laws are absolute. While they shrank women’s rights down to a state-by-state issue to make it seem less important, they were smart enough to replace them with a federal mandate that if a woman disobeys any man, they are to be dealt with in the manner their owner sees fit. If an owner cannot be found, she is given to one as a gift and he gets to decide her fate. Per the law, the owner can send the pet to the pound, they can hurt them physically, they can starve them, and they can even kill them. There is no justice if a pet is killed–it is expected. 

To add insult to injury, when the federal law was enacted, they added a clause that should any man feel threatened by their pet at any time, they can seek immediate help from a special unit on the police force that is so well staffed that they can arrive in mere minutes. Pets who are taken by the police are never, ever heard from again. 

And of course, now you’re thinking…not all men must want to comply with this mandate, correct? Well, that may have been true in the beginning. Devoted husbands would follow the laws that they had to but basically would live ordinary lives without their wives having their full rights while trying to reinstate them quietly. 

But, when the government noticed those outliers, they instituted the compliance code. Any man found aiding and abetting a pet would be castrated and treated as a pet themselves. Sure, those pets were less desirable to most, but those with less money would simply turn out the lights and take what they could get…

Everyone was a target. Everyone with a soul.

Pets also lack rights that were not ever specifically outlined in the constitution. The right to drive. The right to leave the house without a guardian. The right to choose who they are attracted to. The right to live alone. The right to choose what they eat. The right to have a bank account. The right to pick their clothes. The right to read or entertain themselves. The right to go to school. 

They also don’t have traditional birth certificates, but they are registered in a database for tracking. Pets are watched constantly and cannot make a move without prior authorization. In fact, at this point in time, even speaking without permission is forbidden by most owners. It is common practice to rip the tongues out of those who talk back chronically.

There is no underground society to join because we cannot be separate, ever. I am writing this and placing it in the wall. I pretended to clean the video camera in one of the rooms and intentionally smudged the glass to accomplish this. 

I have no one. I am nothing. But, I can still leave a record somewhere…maybe someday, things will be different, but for now, I need to prepare for my owner’s homecoming.