Asylum of One (Prologue) [F30/m32] [Femdom] [Dubcon] [SM] [Humiliation] [ExtremeBondage] [SlowBurn] [Interracial]

Prologue 

Mutt's tongue worked in slow, careful strokes along the curve of Kate's arch, collecting the cold gray oatmeal in wet clumps that slid down his throat like paste. The taste was nothing. Bland starch, faint salt from her skin, the ghost of whatever lotion she'd used last night. He pressed harder, flattening his tongue to scoop every smear from the smooth hollow beneath her toes, then darted between them where the slop had wedged in stubborn little pockets. His jaw already burned from the effort; muscles trembled with fatigue, but he didn't dare slow. One missed spot meant extra time in the kennel tonight. Or worse. 

She sat above him on the kitchen chair, one leg extended, the other hooked casually over her knee. Her bare foot hovered inches from his face while she scrolled her phone with one hand and sipped coffee with the other. The oatmeal bowl sat on the tile beside her chair, half empty now, the remaining mush congealing into a dull gray puddle. She hadn't spoken in almost a minute. Just the soft tap of her thumb on the screen, the occasional slurp from her mug, the wet sounds of his own mouth working against her skin. 

He hated how natural it felt. 

Months ago this would have broken something inside him. The man he'd been would have shoved the bowl away, stood up, shouted until his voice cracked. That man had broad shoulders from hauling rebar, callused hands from gripping tools twelve hours a day, a laugh that carried across construction sites. That man had once thought he decided things. Who touched who, when anger flared, how the night ended. Now he knelt on cold tile in a canvas straitjacket that had molded to his body like wet leather left to harden, arms pinned uselessly behind his back, thick steel collar locked around his throat, ankles cuffed together with just enough chain to shuffle. The chastity cage bit into his groin every time his cock tried to swell, and the plug buzzed low and constant in his ass, a reminder that even his arousal belonged to her. 

He licked faster. The oatmeal smeared across his lips and chin. Some dripped onto the tile. He chased it with his tongue, desperate not to leave a single drop. Shame coiled tight in his chest. He wasn't supposed to want this. Wasn't supposed to feel the pulse low in his belly every time her foot flexed against his mouth, every time she sighed softly above him like he was doing exactly what she expected. But the shame itself had become fuel. The wrongness of it, the way a grown man could be reduced to cleaning his breakfast off a woman's toes while she ignored him for Instagram, made his caged cock throb harder against the metal rings. Pre-cum leaked in slow, humiliating drops. The cage buzzed a warning. He clenched, held his breath, tried to will the erection down. It didn't work. 

She shifted her foot, pressing the ball against his lower lip. 

"Slower," she said without looking up from her phone. "You're slobbering like a damn puppy. Clean it right." 

He obeyed. Tongue flattened. Long, careful strokes. The texture of her skin against his—smooth, warm, slightly callused at the heel from running—sent a shiver down his spine. He hated how much he noticed it. Hated how the simple contact still lit him up after all this time. Once he'd kissed those same feet during sex, held her ankles while he thrust, laughed when she squirmed. Now the act had been stripped of everything but service. No reciprocation. No pleasure for him except the twisted thrill of giving it.  

Another soft buzz from the cage. Another warning shock. He whimpered against her sole. The sound was muffled and pathetic. His bladder ached too. The pressure had been building since last night. But he clenched harder. One accident a week ago had cost him breakfast for three days and a night in the weighted vest with the heater on full. He wouldn't risk it again.  

Kate finally glanced down. Tilted her head.  

"You're shaking. Cute."  

She lifted her foot higher, toes brushing his nose, then pressed them against his lips.  

"Open wider. Get between them again. You missed a spot."  

He stretched his jaw. Tongue darted into the spaces. The faint grit of dried sweat. The slick residue of oatmeal. He worked methodically, sucking gently on each toe when she flexed them, letting her feel the heat of his mouth. Her breathing changed. Just a fraction. A small hitch. She set the phone down. Leaned back in the chair. 

"Good boy," she murmured. "Keep going. Don't rush." 

He didn't. Licked slower. Deeper. The taste of her skin filled his mouth, overlaid with the bland sludge. His dick throbbed painfully in the cage. Another buzz. Another shock. He jerked, a muffled groan vibrating against her foot. She laughed softly.  

"Already? Jesus. You're hopeless." 

She pulled her foot away. Wiped it on his cheek, leaving a wet smear.  

"Other one." 

He shifted on his knees. The chain between his ankles clinked. He leaned in again. Same slow worship. Same humiliating care. She picked up her coffee, took a sip, watched him over the rim of the mug. 

"You used to hate doing dishes," she said conversationally. "Remember? You'd leave them piled up for days, bitch about how tired you were from work. Now look at you. Licking your breakfast off my feet like it's the best meal you've ever had." 

He kept licking. Didn't answer. Couldn't. She’d removed the socks and jaw spreader from his mouth so he could eat, but that didn’t give him the right to speak. He knew the rules well. 

She set the mug down. Reached down. Cupped his chin, tilted his face up. 

"Look at me." 

He raised his eyes. Hers were calm. Almost bored. 

"You love this, don't you? Being my little foot cleaner. My Mutt. Say it." 

His voice cracked when he spoke. Hoarse from disuse. 

"Yes." 

"Yes what?" 

"Yes... I love it." 

She smiled. Small and satisfied. 

"Good boy." 

She let go. Pushed her foot back against his mouth. 

"Finish." 

He did. Licked until every trace of oatmeal was gone. Until her foot gleamed wet with his spit. Until his jaw trembled and his dick ached and the cage buzzed another warning he barely registered. 

When she finally pulled away he stayed on his knees, head bowed, breathing hard. 

She stood. Grabbed the chain leash attached to his heavy metal collar. Yanked once. 

"Up. Spare room. Punishment time for doing a piss poor cleaning job today." 

He glanced at her feet. They were immaculate. What did she mean? Oh well. She felt like punishing him today. And so he would be punished. 

He rose. Shuffled after her. The chain rattled. His knees hurt. His bladder screamed. His dick throbbed. 

He followed. 

Because he always followed. 

Because the man who'd once walked away had died long ago. 

And the thing that remained—Mutt—still loved her. 

Still craved her. 

Still knelt for her. 

Even when it broke him.