Bow wow wow

Bridget’s games always began with an irresistible allure, a whisper of thrill laced with danger. Tonight, her target was Evan, the confident stockbroker whose self-assurance radiated from across the room, and they would be playing a game she called “Bow wow wow.” She had seen it in his eyes the moment they met—he was a perfect mark for the game. A man so consumed by his own ego that he wouldn’t even notice the trap until it had already ensnared him.

They arrived at her carefully selected hotel suite, its opulent decor starkly contrasting the raw, primal experience she had in mind. As Evan crossed the threshold, Bridget turned to face him, her smile laced with playful menace.

“Do you trust me, Evan?” she purred, leaning back against the velvet chaise, her posture casual but predatory.

He grinned, his confidence unwavering. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Good,” she murmured, her voice light but edged with something darker. “Because tonight, we’re playing a game. A game that requires… less clothing.”

Evan blinked, his composure faltering. “Less clothing?”

Bridget moved toward him with graceful intent, her fingers trailing over his tie, undoing it slowly. “Mm-hmm,” she whispered. “You don’t mind, do you? After all, dogs don’t wear clothes.”

“Dogs?” he chuckled nervously, the unease just beginning to seep into his voice.

“You’ll see,” she replied, her tone soft yet heavy with promise. “Now, be a good boy and strip for me.”

He hesitated, pride clawing at him, but the magnetism in her gaze made resistance futile. Slowly, he began to unbutton his shirt, the fabric slipping away to reveal the taut muscles of his chest.

“Keep going,” Bridget encouraged, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Piece by piece, his clothing piled on the floor, until he stood before her, completely exposed. Bridget circled him, her heels clicking against the polished floor like the steady beat of a drum.

“Much better,” she purred, her gaze raking over him. “Now you’re ready to play.”

From her bag, she produced a choke collar, its chain gleaming in the light. The prongs were sharp, each one glinting with a dangerous promise, ready to bite into his skin at the slightest tug. She held it up, letting him see the subtle weight of the situation.

“What is that?” Evan asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

Bridget’s smile deepened as she stepped closer, her breath brushing against his skin. “It’s for you. Every good dog needs a collar.”

Evan laughed nervously. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“Oh, but you did,” she said, her voice sweet but unwavering. “When you walked into this room, you agreed to do whatever I say. Didn’t you?”

Her eyes locked onto his with a challenge. He hesitated, the weight of her gaze pressing down on him, before he nodded reluctantly.

“Good,” she said, fastening the collar around his neck with slow, deliberate care. As she tightened it, the prongs pressed against his skin, just enough to make him wince, their cold bite a reminder of the power she wielded over him. The collar clicked into place, sealing his submission.

Bridget took a step back, the leash now dangling from her fingers. With a swift, practiced tug, she gave her first command. “On all fours.”

Evan hesitated, his pride flaring one final time. But as the leash tightened in her grasp, the look in her eyes left no room for defiance. Slowly, he sank to his hands and knees, his face flushing with humiliation.

“Good boy,” Bridget cooed, her hand patting his head mockingly. “Now, let’s see if you’re a proper little dog.”

The night unfolded like a darkly twisted performance, Bridget guiding him through the suite, her heels clicking in time with the jingle of the leash. She made him fetch objects with his teeth, roll over on command, and even sit, raising his hands like paws as she commanded him to beg.

Evan, kneeling on the plush carpet, felt a deep, unsettling shift inside him. How had he ended up here? Just hours ago, he had been the one in control—the confident predator. Now, he was at Bridget’s mercy, crawling on all fours, humiliated and exposed.

His pride screamed at him to resist. But another part of him—one he didn’t fully understand—was consumed by desire. It was undeniable. She had him in her grasp, and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, he wanted her more than anything.

“Fetch,” she ordered, tossing one of her heels across the room.

Evan hesitated, his fists clenched against the carpet. This wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t some toy, some fool who could be manipulated like this.

But then, there was the voice—the voice that whispered: What if you just do it? What if this is just a game? Maybe she was testing him, seeing how far he’d go.

Because he wanted her. Desperately.

He swallowed hard, and with a final, shaky breath, he crawled toward the shoe, his body responding before his mind could fully comprehend the depths of his humiliation. He picked it up with his teeth and turned back to her.

Bridget’s smile was sharp, a mixture of amusement and dominance. “Dogs don’t have hands,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery.

Evan’s stomach tightened. “You want me to…” he trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Her gaze hardened, cold and unyielding. “Did I stutter?”

The words hit him like a wave. For a moment, he couldn’t move. His pride, bruised and battered, clung desperately to whatever dignity he had left. But then the hunger surged—the raw, aching need to please her, to have her.

He leaned down, gripping the shoe between his teeth, the taste of leather bitter on his tongue. The shame burned through him, but the flicker of approval in her eyes sent a rush of heat to his core.

As he crawled back to her, his heart thudded in his chest. This was no longer a game. This was power—her power—and she wielded it with a cruelty that left him breathless.

“Sit,” she commanded, tugging the leash once more.

Evan obeyed, sinking onto his heels, hands resting awkwardly on his thighs. He couldn’t meet her gaze; the weight of his submission was too much to bear.

“Now beg,” she said, a cruel smile playing at the edges of her lips.

His breath hitched as he looked up at her, vulnerable. “Bridget, please…”

“Not like that,” she cut him off, her voice cold. “Dogs don’t talk. They pant.”

The humiliation surged through him as he realized what she wanted. The command was clear, unmistakable. He opened his mouth, his tongue flicking out as he panted, his breath shallow and ragged.

Bridget laughed, low and wicked, the sound reverberating through him like a bell tolling his complete surrender. “Good boy,” she purred, crouching in front of him.

Her approval hit him like a drug, intoxicating and cruel. He hated how much it mattered.

She stopped near the bed, turning to face him with a wicked smile. “Dogs sniff things, don’t they?”

Evan froze, his eyes widening. “Wait—”

Bridget pulled on the leash, cutting him off. “Come now,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “Be a good boy and sniff my butt, like I’m a bitch in heat.”

Evan froze, his mind racing. The words hit him like a slap, echoing through the charged silence between them. Sniff me like a bitch in heat. The command seemed absurd, surreal, but Bridget’s gaze was unwavering—cold, dominant, and expectant. He could see the challenge in her eyes, daring him to resist.

For a moment, his world tilted. His pride, what was left of it, screamed for him to stand up, to refuse, to walk away and reclaim his dignity. But then, the deeper, darker part of him—the part Bridget had been pulling from the start—responded. The hunger, the need to submit, to feel her power over him, surged within him, suffocating everything else.

He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. The humiliation was unbearable. His body tensed, as though on the verge of running, but his legs felt rooted to the floor. He couldn’t look at her—couldn’t meet her gaze, because he knew what would come next if he did.

“Please,” he whispered, the word slipping out before he could stop it. His voice cracked, strained with desperation, “I can’t…”

But Bridget didn’t flinch. She tugged on the leash again, hard enough that he felt the sharpness of her control. “Did I stutter?” she asked, her voice as cold as ice, without a hint of mercy.

Evan’s breath caught. His pride, his resistance, crumbled under the weight of her certainty, the raw pull of her dominance. He leaned down, his hands trembling slightly as he crawled closer to her, and, for the first time, the taste of defeat flooded his mouth.

“Wait, bitches don’t wear clothes.” Bridget lowered her panties to expose her ass beneath her skirt. Tugging on his chain, she drew his face closer to her butt.

His face flushed hot with shame, but there was something else beneath it—a gnawing, hungry need to please her, to be her good little dog. His body moved before his mind could catch up, compelled by forces he didn’t understand. He leaned forward, the weight of her command pulling him deeper into the dark world she had created for him.

As he inhaled, the scent of her musk—of power, of domination—flooded his senses. It was wrong, so wrong, yet it made him burn with a desire he couldn’t name. There was no turning back now. He had crossed the line.

“Let me hear you sniff”, and Evan began making exaggerated sniffing sounds.

“

His nose brushed against her and Bridget gave the leash a sharp tug. “No touching,” she said firmly, her tone steely.

Evan froze, the collar’s prongs digging into his skin as the command settled in. He hadn’t meant to, but the urge to touch—her skin, her curves—had been so overwhelming. The choke collar reminded him: submission came with rules.

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind. You’re a good stud, so I’m going to let you lick me.” Evan tried to pull away, but Bridget pulled on the leash to draw his face near her ass, “Lick!.”

Evan had never performed analingus. The found the thought of it repulsive, but now he found himself licking a woman’s anus, not in the heat of passion, but as part of game that was obviously designed to cause him humiliation.

Bridget’s smile was a wicked thing, full of satisfaction. “Good boy,” she purred, as she stepped away from Evan and pulled up her panties..

How far would he go? The question echoed in his mind.

He didn’t have the answer. But one thing was clear: the line he thought he’d never cross had vanished the moment Bridget fastened the collar around his neck.

Bridget’s eyes, dark with satisfaction, remained locked on Evan as she took a slow, deliberate step back, her fingers still loosely curled around the leash. She saw the raw need in his gaze, the desire to please her consuming him completely. It was a powerful thing, to watch a man like him unravel, and she savored every moment.

“Stay,” she commanded, her voice low, smooth, and unyielding.

Evan’s chest rose and fell with each breath, his body still aching from the torment of submission. He nodded, his lips trembling slightly as he replied, “Yes, Bridget.”

She walked toward the door, the sound of her steps leaving an echo that seemed to linger in the air long after she’d stopped. Then, with a final glance, she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Evan remained on the floor, his body still burning with the aftershocks of his humiliation. He was alone now, naked and vulnerable, left to stew in the remnants of his surrender. The collar, still tight around his neck, seemed to mock him, a cold reminder of his place in her world.

Evan’s breath quickened as he desperately tried to remove the collar. His fingers fumbled around the edges, but the sharp prongs pressed uncomfortably into his skin, making it impossible to get a good grip. His frustration mounted, and he pulled harder, trying to loosen it, but it wouldn’t budge. The cold metal of the collar seemed to tighten, like it was mocking his efforts.

Confused and growing more desperate, Evan stumbled toward the full-length mirror on the wall, hoping to see some reason for the difficulty. As he moved closer, he caught a glimpse of his reflection—his chest heaving, his skin flushed with humiliation, the chain collar encircling his neck. He reached up again, this time angling his head to get a better view of the collar.

And that’s when he saw it.

A small padlock, nestled at the front of the collar, glinted in the mirror’s light. He blinked, his heart stuttering in his chest as the truth dawned on him. The collar was locked. He had no way of removing it, no way of freeing himself.

His heart skipped a beat as his fingers fumbled desperately over the lock, trying to find a way to loosen it. The padlock was small but solid, and there was no way to remove it without the key—the key that Bridget held in her possession, wherever she had gone.

But it wasn’t just the collar. As he surveyed the room, he realized his clothes were nowhere to be found. With panic in his eye, the leash dangling behind him, he rushed around the room on all fours, looking under the bed and elsewhere. The pile of his clothing, which had once lay discarded on the floor in an aftermath of his submission, was gone. She had taken them.

She had taken everything. She had stripped him not just of his dignity but of his very identity, leaving him with nothing but the collar around his neck.

The walls seemed to close in around him as the full weight of his predicament crashed down on him. He was locked in the collar, his clothes stolen, and he had no way to escape. He was completely at her mercy.

He sank to his knees in front of the mirror, his fingers brushing over the prongs, the collar digging deeper into his skin as if it were permanently part of him now. His reflection stared back at him—broken, exposed, vulnerable—and the collar was the only thing that remained.

She had won. There was no escaping this, no way to remove the collar, no way to regain what he had lost. His pride, his dignity, his clothes—all taken from him, leaving him nothing more than an object, a plaything for her amusement.

His breath was shallow, his chest tight, as he struggled to process the reality of his situation. He couldn’t move without feeling the harsh bite of the collar. He couldn’t speak freely, not without the threat of the prongs tightening and making every word a struggle.

And worst of all, he knew she was the only one with the key. She had complete control over him, and he was powerless to stop it. There was no escaping the collar, no escape from the reality of his situation. He was hers now.

As he knelt there, the quiet hum of his submission filled the room, and all he could do was wait. He waited for her to come back, if she came back, for the next twist in the game, for whatever else she had in store.