“Pretty,” another woman who has bunny ears besides her collar and tail says. Her voice is soft and seductive.
I remain still. Silent.
“Why are you acting like you just saw a ghost?” the red-lipped woman asks. “We don’t bite.”
The women in the room giggle, and I easily see that everyone is… comfortable.
“What’s your name?” she asks, cutting off the laughter.
They don’t recognize me…yet. I consider giving a fake name but trying to keep my true identity is going to be impossible once we join the men. Apollo Godwin and his family own Heathens Hollow. Even if the women don’t recognize me, they will soon recognize him.
“Daphne,” I answer as I reposition myself to sit on my thigh. The large tail makes it impossible to fully sit on my butt, so I have no choice but to find a position that seems to enhance my sensuality when, in fact, that is the last thing I am meaning to do.
“Daphne Godwin? Apollo’s wife?”
I nod and swallow the lump that forms in the back of my throat.
“We are sitting with royalty,” a girl, who leans against a wall, says. She is dressed in a black puppy tail and has a black leather mask covering her face. Her costume is far more extensive and involves leather jewelry with a thicker collar than others. “Godwins rarely attend The Vault.” Her eyes glance at my tail. “He even gave you a white tail and a diamond collar. Very… Godwin-like.”
I struggle to process the women before me. It’s clear they are all here by choice. Every single one of them, and they assume I am as well. And for some bizarre reason, I don’t want to let on that my husband has taken me to Heathens Hollow, and everything about this situation is forced. It’s like I’m in a high school locker room trying to fit in with the cool cheerleaders or something. I also have been so groomed to protect the Godwin name at all cost, that I don’t want to mar Apollo’s reputation at all. Ironic, since trying to destroy him is what landed me in this situation.
Regardless, I remain silent.
It isn’t like they can help me anyway if I told them the truth. They won’t cross a Godwin and help me escape. Not if they value the land they live on. They only lease the land. Not own. A Godwin can evict without cause, and most certainly will if given a reason. If anything, they may make the situation worse if they told their men about me and then the men told Apollo. I don’t think Apollo would appreciate a scene at The Vault.
Awkward silence is soon replaced by the women going about whatever conversations they were having before I entered the room. I’ve never been one to really like cocktail parties or social gatherings. But I married into that life, however, so I have attended countless numbers of boring, pointless nights. I’m not good at small talk just for the sake of it. I’m not good at laying on the charm to complete strangers.
But at least at those parties, I had a fucking dress on.
Here I sit. With a tail in my ass that’s growing more uncomfortable by the minute and a collar that still feels humiliating regardless if it’s made of diamonds. And the other women just sit around in their own tails and collars, but they don’t seem the slightest bit uncomfortable. This is ordinary for them. They all smile and chat on as if they are at their very own cocktail party…minus the dresses and pretentious designer purses and heels.
And the craziest thing about it all is that I’m the odd one in the room. I don’t know how to just sit comfortably. I don’t know what to look at or what to do. I don’t want to stare at their nudity or how some have ears or fake eyelashes. One woman even has contact lenses in that look like the iris of an actual cat. I don’t want to stare, but I can’t help it.
I can’t get comfortable no matter what position I try to sit in. It must be obvious because the red-lipped woman looks at me again and says, “Not used to the tail?”
“It’s…big,” I answer, not really sure what to say but regret how whiney my response sounds.
“It’s best to not move so much,” she advises. “The weight of the plug is shifting around and stretching you with every move. It’s best to relax and stay as still as you can. Don’t clench.”
Before I can ask exactly how you don’t clench when your body wants the invasion out, the door opens and the staff member who brought me here stands in the doorway.
“Come, pets. It’s dinnertime. Your masters are waiting for you to join them.”
Praise the fucking lord. I could eat a bowl of cat food at this stage.
Every woman moves toward the door on hands and knees, crawling with their leashes dragging behind them. I take this as my cue and do exactly the same. The heavy weight of my tail becomes even more obvious as I crawl like an animal in single file to the main room.
All the men are seated at the dining room table, including Apollo at the head. They all watch us enter the room with smiles and hungry eyes as we interrupt their meeting. I make eye contact with Apollo, and I see he seems pleased. Whether that is with me crawling like a good pet, or that he sits in a room full of women on hands and knees. Regardless, I never break my stare as I follow the other women under the table. Each woman rests at the feet of their “masters”, and I pick up quickly that I’m about to do the same at Apollo’s feet. I don’t have time to process or even protest that we are under a table. Slacked pants and black leather shoes are all we can see of the powerful men.
And the most twisted question of all runs through my head…
Are we going to eat under the table at the men’s feet?
And why do all the surrounding women seem happy? They’re smiling. Some are rubbing their faces on their man’s leg like an obedient pet would do. Others crouch and patiently await whatever will come next. No one is blushing. No one is crying. No one is pissed or holding back fury. Not one single woman is in distress of any kind.
Apollo reaches under the table and places his palm on the top of my head. He gently runs his fingers between my hair…petting me.
Petting his bunny.