#dehumanisation cw
Mark and Gemma get a pet - p XXXII (the final part)
Tag list: @painful-pooch@for-the-love-of-nsfwhump@abitefullofwhump@whumpinggrounds @dragyouthroughthewhump
This is it. The final part. I’m emotional. I hope you will be too. Thanks for all the support, and to everyone who was with me during this ride.
Cw for BBU, pet whump, dehumanisation (whumpee partly referred to as ‘it’), referenced BBU-typical dubcon/noncon
[Masterpost] [Part I] [< Previous]
“Ms Gemma? Ms Gemma, I’m sorry, please? Let me out?”
Gemma heard faint taps against the bathroom door. It was odd how the pet was soft and quiet, even in despair. Gemma knew she was desperate.
No. Not ‘she’. It. It, the pet. Ira wasn’t a person, Ira was a discarded toy, and Gemma had needed her - no, it - for a while.
She didn’t any longer.
It hurt a little, admittedly. She’d allowed the pet to grow close to her, to become a part of her life. She felt good when the pet smiled at her, felt safe in its arms, comforted by its love. She’d lost herself in its touch.
More than herself.
She’d lost control.
Of Mark, of her own emotions, of her life.
She’d be getting it back.
Gemma straightened her dress and turned away, checking herself in the hallway mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed from the last time she’d had with the pet, her hair a bit messy, her pupils still blown. It had been good, perfect, probably. Not great, though. She could see it more clearly, now that she was moving on. Great sex was - just in sex, in contrast to everything else - in the imperfection, in the giggles and the laughs and the insecurities and the 'do you like it when I do this?’.
And Gemma was ready to have great sex again, with new acquaintances or maybe with old ones. She didn’t need a pet with complex pet needs and peculiar pet feelings. She was in charge again.
“Ms Gemma? Please? Let me out! I’ll make up for it.”
It hadn’t done anything wrong. It had done everything right.
The doorbell rang.
Looking past the short term feelings of emotional attachment that had grown from heartbreak, Gemma simply just wasn’t cut out to be a pet owner. She lacked the patience and the willingness to invest more money, and she definitely lacked the depravity that pets like Ira were designed for.
The guy at the door, however, seemed to meet these criteria. Paul Summers, rich heir and investment banker. He’d contacted her via Craigslist, before they’d taken her ad down due to some ridiculous issue about community guidelines.
The camera showed a young man, slicked back blond hair, sunglasses, designer suit. On an afternoon at the weekend. Yeah. Definitely the kind to own a pet. Gemma buzzed him in, before she turned around and talked at the closed bathroom door.
“Ira.Pet. You’ve been delivered with some handcuffs, right?”
“I…” A pause. “Yes, Ms Gemma.”
“Put them on. Hands behind your back. And to your knees. I’m going to let you out in a minute.”
After she heard the two faint clicks of cuffs being closed, she opened the apartment door to let in the visitor.
“Miss Sinclair.” Summers grin was too wide and too white. “Thank you for making the time. That’s a once in a lifetime offer you put up there.” He took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt while he looked her down. “You do look well fucked. Was that the pet?”
Gemma frowned at that level of disrespect, almost ready to show him the door again, were it not for the slim briefcase by his side. Cash, they’d agreed. There’d still be official papers to transfer ownership, but she didn’t want the transaction show up on her account.
“It was.” She smirked. “It’s worth the money.”
“Well, I hope she knows how to fuck a guy, too. You’ve had any chance to evaluate this?”
Gemma cleared her throat. What an ass. “My… ex. Yes. He was very satisfied.”
“Nice.” Another grin. “So, where is she?”
Gemma unlocked the bathroom door and pushed it open.
The pet was kneeling on the blue tiles, hands tied behind it, back straight, eyes cast down on the glossy blue tiles in front of it.
Tears were glimmering in the corners of its eyes. Gemma pretended not to see them.
Summers didn’t seem to notice them at all. “Well, aren’t you a beauty?” He grabbed her - its - chin and tilted its face up, thumb running over its lower lip. “Fuck, I can’t wait to try out that mouth.”
Without turning around, he asked Gemma, “What’s her name?”
“Ir…,” Gemma cleared her throat. Her mouth was dry, all of a sudden. Ridiculous. “Ira,” she repeated. It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal.
“Ms… Ms Gemma?” Ira breathed. “Ms Gemma, who - ? Why?”
“You’re a pet. I don’t need a pet. He does.”
“But I …” Ira swallowed back a sob and Gemma felt her jaw tense. Pets learned to manipulate. They were made to make people feel things. It was an uncanny act. “I love you, Ms Gemma.”
It stung. It stung so much, she didn’t even hear what Summers said in reply to that.
She shook her head in disbelief. She was a professional. This was a business deal. Nothing more. “Excuse me, what did you say?”
“I think she’ll do just fine. She doesn’t need to love anyone, she just has to keep her mouth shut and spread those long legs whenever asked to. Can you do that, Ira?” His fingers were still on its lips, and somehow that irritated Gemma.
“I…”Ira-the pet - swallowed, and its voice shifted to honey once more. This time, however, it sounded more viscous than sweet. “I am made to fulfill my owner’s desires.”
“Thought so.” He smiled fondly. “So, Miss Sinclair, if you have the papers ready, I’ll take her.”
It, Gemma thought automatically. It. It. It.
“Yeah,” she mumbled, gaze on Ira, one last time. Large brown eyes, silently pleading. Soft white hair, that Summers was curling around a finger already. Tense muscles under scarred brown skin. And the collar, marking it for what it was. “Yeah. You take her.”
It.
It sobbed.
Gemma signed.
