The Party

You’ve heard about the party from the whisperings of some of the other pets. An event that takes place on the night of the full moon, it’s rumoured it’s where your Mxtress travels to network and fraternize with others in Their field. Nobody knows what actually occurs there, but that doesn’t stop the gossip and the stories. All Their pets know for certain is that Mxtress never misses attending, is always dressed Their best for the event and that every so often, one of Their possessions is lucky enough to accompany Them too.

This time it was your turn.

You were not given much warning, only that you will be attending a gathering this evening with your Mxtress so you should be well prepared for it. A shudder runs through you. Further enquiries as to how you should prepare or what you should expect are met with silence. It was not like you had a different uniform to change into for special occasions. Nervousness and excitement coil together within you.

At the allotted time you kneel outside Their chambers. They are running fashionably late, and when They step out into the corridor you keep your gaze firmly focused on Their heels. You watch Them step closer, feel Their hands play with your hair for a moment, before taking a fistful and tugging you to your feet. Everything about their visage screams power and perfection to you, but this evening even more so. You have not seen Them dressed so elegantly before. You don’t know where to look, but you wouldn’t dare be so disrespectful and look away.

“Come.”

You follow. It’s unfair of Them to use that word on you, but nothing about this arrangement was ever ‘fair’ before. You know the exact distance and angle to trail Them from, it has been well trained into you. Your hands gently clasp in front of you like a maid in waiting. Your Mxtress prefers the more traditional methods when it comes to programming Their property, but that doesn't mean you’re any less under Their power. If anything, Their personal touch in taking you and crafting you has further sealed your contract. You’re helpless to follow Their every beck and call, and it feels so good to do so.

You’re so focused on following them that you don’t even realise you’ve stepped out from Their estate. Another servant is waiting before a vehicle, the one programmed to be Their personal chauffeur. It smiles cheerfully as it opens the passenger door for Them, it’s even programmed to make small talk. “What a lucky pet you have with you today, Mxtress. It will make such a good sacrifice.”

The ride from Their estate in the artificial countryside to the depths of the metropolis does not take long at all, and yet it feels like it goes on forever. You sit there in the passenger seat across from Them, staring intently down at the carpet between your feet. Not even watching as the sparkling, green fields turned to flashing, neon and steel through the tinted windows. All the while the Mxtress and Their charismatic driver exchange such teasing, ominous pleasantries about the coming gathering. You were missing so much context to understand what they were saying. Being referred to as ‘sacrifice’ was not making you feel any better either.

The car slows to a stop down a drop-off lane between several venues. Your Mxtress tilts your head up with Their finger (Their touch leaves you gasping) and points to a particular back entrance to one such establishment. “This is where you get out, pet. I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

“Yes, Mxtress.”

The door opens and you slide off your chair and into the alleyway. There’s a bouncer by the entrance, waiting for you. She watches your timid movements as you walk straight towards her, your servant’s uniform painfully contrasting the urban environment. “Are you the sacrifice?” She smirks, looking you up and down. You freeze for a moment at that word again before nodding your head. Being called that by a stranger implies it’s not just a teasing term your Mxtress was playing about with. The entrance opens. You enter.

“Greetings, little lamb.” The interior feels like the backstage area for a theater. The one addressing also wears a uniform, though of a different design. It smiles at you, but you can see from the look in its eyes that it is so deeply, deeply under. “The show will soon be commencing. There are a few preparations we must make first. Are you ready?”

You nod again. Speaking feels inappropriate, like you might disrupt the delicate procession that you find yourself a part of. “Very good. I will be fitting you with a collar designed to lower your current programmed defences and controls.” It raises its hands as if predicting your concerns. “Don’t worry, your owner slash owners are well aware of what they have surrendered you to. This is all a vital part of the proceedings. It is essential that you become pliable.”

You don’t know whether to nod or object, but your input turns out to be unnecessary. It steps behind you and you feel a cold, metallic touch embrace your neck. The collar is thick and heavy, keeping your head pushed up. When it locks into place, multiple latches revolve and intertwine with one another, making it impossible to remove. You hear a beeping noise, and then a dizziness descends. The firm footing of your rigid, neural programming crumbles away, bringing with it a light-headed clarity. You shamelessly moan out as the complexity of free will comes smashing back.

You feel a tug from the collar and step forwards to follow it. The other servant marches before you, and from its hand a leash extends up to your neck. It leads you through this backstage facility, past dressing rooms and prop storage. You get the sense that this venue is for small-scale shows and parties. At least, that’s what you’re able to perceive when your mind isn’t frantically confused by the myriad of independent thoughts and memories now clouding its processors. Your suspicion is confirmed when you are led out onto a dimly lit stage just big enough for the two of you. The audience is shrouded in darkness, but you can make out their standing silhouettes as they turn to observe you.

“Good evening, to our most respectable clientele.” The other servant is clearly programmed with a flair for the theatrical. “We do hope you have been enjoying the refreshments and atmosphere. As ever, one among you has provided a sacrifice for the purpose of tonight’s entertainment.”

Your eyes flicker across the many shapes from the abyss that stare right back at you, trying to make out your Mxtress from the obscured crowd. You notice from their shapes how many of them are dressed in elaborate masks. To look up and into the waiting eyes of so many powerful individuals, you realise how much freedom the collar has given you to do so. You wonder how much further it will allow you to resist.

“As always, the order of proceedings has been randomly allocated. We shall now commence with the main event.”

The servant drops your leash handle and lets it flop in front of you before departing the stage. For a brief moment you stand alone, cautious in your uncertainty. Your perfect, formal posture is showing cracks, your body language betrays your lack of control. You contemplate whether you should run, fight back or pretend to still be under. A new figure entering the stage gives you little time to wonder.

“My, what a cute item we have here.” They’re dressed almost as elegantly as your Mxtress, a gothic butterfly concealing the face around their eyes. “What shall I do with it I wonder?”

It’s clear they’re not addressing you. They are putting on a performance for the audience, and from the scattering of chuckles it appears they are succeeding. They’re confident too, gliding across the stage towards you. You step back but it’s too late, they already have a grip of your leash, and they forcefully tug you back to them.

“It’s too late to get away, dear.” You look up into those shimmering, unblinking eyes, framed by the butterfly. They stare so intently down into your own. You can’t look away.

“Yes, that’s right. Pretty, aren’t they?” Pretty... “My eyes are so calming, aren’t they?” Calming... “So wonderful how they spiral around, drawing you in.”

You feel the sensation of falling upwards, as though gravity was reversed. Spinning helplessly up into those spiralling eyes. The butterfly wings flap, as though it too is gliding up into the air, beckoning you higher. The spirals grow larger and you ride their tendrils into them. You can feel your head rolling as you follow them. You can feel your saliva dripping down your cheek. You can. You can.

You drop to your knees on a nonexistent floor. Staring upwards. Unable to even think about staring anywhere else. They still hold your leash but at this point that’s just for show. The show. Was there a show? You can barely keep yourself upright, but voices in your mind beckon you to do so. So many voices, none of which you can pick out clearly, but in unison they guide you down and upwards at the same time. This should feel conflicting but it feels natural. It feels natural to go this deep. It feels natural to obey.

There’s nothing else around you. Everything has been consumed by this wonderful dream. You can feel your mouth moving but you can’t hear your own words. The butterfly puppets you from above while the voices speak through you. They have a mantra that needs to be repeated. An endless cycle, looping with the spiral. A fully contained dream without end.

Until it does end. You slump over into a heap on the stage floor. Reality returns to you in glimpses. Through glazed-over eyes you view the audience, lightly applauding the work of the one with the butterfly mask. You try to say something but you can only grunt; you try to move but your body is simply too heavy. You have no idea how long you were under for, as they depart from the stage and leave you alone. It feels like your whole world is spinning. Another figure enters the stage.

“You’re already this broken? Tut tut.” This one wears a tiger over their face. The devil resides upon their lips. “Let’s see how deep you can truly go.”

Linear time fragments into an endless series of moments. They feel like bubbles, so fragile and easily popped. Floating through the air with no purpose, no memory of which one came before the other. But within each one is contained something unique. This one contains sadistic glee, of thoughts being twisted, squeezed, ground up and ripped apart. A dungeon dedicated to pulling your mind apart, over and over again. This one contains only pleasure, overwhelming bliss to the point of obliteration. An endless string of fantasies, both good and bad. They waft around your drained mind, and every time they pop they cause your body to jolt.

Sometimes your captivators like to gift you coherency, just so they can see your expression as they pilot your body for you. They make you do all sorts of tricks, such a good pet. You have an audience to entertain after all. The crowd has long since faded into the background of your dream world, but you pose for them nonetheless. Like a dog begging for treats. Like a puppet on strings. Like a dancer in the midst of an irresistible melody. You leave nothing to the imagination. You surrender everything. You can feel your body exhausting but the show must go on. You can feel your mind cracking, made further malleable by the constant pull and release of pressure.

And back down you go. Down the ten steps and into the comfy bed. Upon the beach and feeling the waves lap over your body. Sinking into the sand. So comfy and relaxed. You can’t even remember how you got to this beach. The sky is so calming. The clouds are swirling. They’re rearranging your memories. Rebuilding you again and again. But in this relaxed space, why that’s completely okay.

You hear applause, and then silence. There’s a world out there, beyond your eyes. So many blurry shapes. Your body has gone so limp you don’t even know what part you’re lying on. A voice is speaking, dramatic in tone. It’s announcing something. There’s hands upon you, you’re lifted up. Something heavy around your neck disconnects and thumps to the floor. You breathe a sigh of relief but you don’t know why. Something in your head is trying to reconstruct its structure. The repairs will take a very long time.

…

You wake up in one of the pet beds in the quarters that the pets all share. You groggily push against the sheets and rub your eyes, blinking in the sunlight that streams through the window. You panic, you’ve overslept! You should be working for your-

‘Relax.’

You crumple back into bed at the command, your eyes once again glazing over. Their voice speaks in your mind, a pre-programmed statement in anticipation of your awakening.

‘You did very well, pet. You deserve the day off.’

You bathe in the soothingness of Their words. Drifting gently back down into sleep.

‘So just relax. I look forward to taking you again next time.’

You smile in delight as dreams claim you once again.