Throwback Tuesday... An old AU fanfic written after I first discovered Michael Manning's Spider Garden art. Written for specific characters, but general enough to not need to know what fandom they're from and who they are, I think.
The slightest touch of the Leathermistress brought complete submission as she worked. Thin, strong laces and hide so fine it shone like latex tightened around his waist. No complaints as her boot braced against his shoulder as the laces of the corset were cinched, pulling his already narrow middle so tight he had to take measured breaths until he became used to the constriction.
Panting already like the dog you are, she smiled, and slipped the muzzle over his face. The gag was unnecessary, he’d insisted earlier, and paid for it. A wave of dark curls burying his face as straps were buckled almost drew a whimper from his throat, but he knew better. It was hard to hear through the hood, forcing him to pay strict attention if he was to follow her every command.
He did so without hesitation, feeling no pain.
A leash snapped to his high, restricting collar, and he followed obediently, hearing his claws click on the tile as he came to heel. At least the sculpted leather gloves that turned his slender hands into a dog’s strong paws were easy to move in, didn’t cramp. In time, he would learn to walk as a dog, but for now, his awkward crawl was acceptable.
He’d never been aware of all the eyes until now. They’d been furniture, pretty objects to look at or use, but until now… The Master, always his master, looked down on him with a smile befitting a devil, his lap full of the golden tresses of the Mistress…
Bring him forward.
He moved forward slowly, gracefully, head already forced high by the collar, chin up. Again he sat, at attention, awaiting Master’s approval. A smile aimed less at him than the Leathermistress who handed over his leash.
Another masterwork, Lady.
Always for you, my Lord.
His Master’s hand on his cheek, burning hot compared to the silken cool of the Leathermistress. Silver eyes partially hidden behind tangled sable bangs roamed his leather-bound body, strong fingers touched here and there.
This suits you well, Huntmaster. The other dogs will still obey you, but now, perhaps, you’ll obey me a bit more often.
He, who once ran the hounds, now hound himself. Master’s fingers curling through the auburn mane falling from around the straps of the muzzle. Master wanted a fancy beast in him, leaving him with his tresses, where the hounds in the kennel were shaved clean. The smallest of sounds was choked off as he felt his Master shift the object slipped into his body in order to mimic a tail, forcing it to wag.
I thought the Master might like a wolf for his kennels.
Very thoughtful, Leathermistress, indeed I do. But I think I’ll keep this lovely beast close. It wouldn’t do to have him stolen. He’ll sleep in our bedchambers, and guard us the night through.
A new chain, attached to the binding collar, this one of fine serpentine braid, and he followed the slight pull, the slight distance to his Master’s dais, curling at his feet. The toe of the Mistress’s sharp boot poked his shoulder, and he turned his head obediently to rub against it, for he loved her as he loved his Master as he loved the Leathermistress who had once been his mate and equal. Now he was pet to them all, bound to follow their every command, grant them their every pleasure, no matter what form it might take. And he knew their whims as well as his own, so long he’d stood by their sides and taken part. The Leathermistress stroked over his hips as he laid there, her fingers caressing the marks that made him look a Tasmanian tiger. They’d fade in time, leaving only the Wolf. Precious pet, guard beast, predator, master of the hunt.
Heart full of pride.
A silent smile.