Ava – Part 4

Ava Designed

The water from the dog shower was a lukewarm, indifferent cascade, doing little to wash away the feeling of being filthily, irrevocably used. Ava stood under the spray, her body a roadmap of aches and violations. The raw, torn flesh of her anus throbbed with a deep, internal fire, but it was the pain deep inside, the one she couldn't see, that truly haunted her. It was a phantom memory of being rearranged, of King’s colossal cock not just stretching her but forcing its way into her intestines, straightening her delicate inner coils, wrapping them around his impossible girth. She felt a bruising deep within her core, a profound, internal ache that was a testament to how completely he had claimed her, how her own body had been forced to conform to his brutal shape.

Her throat was a hollowed-out cavern, each swallow a searing trial of sandpaper and broken glass. She scrubbed her skin with the coarse, institutional soap until it was pink, the rough towel scraping against her tender flesh, but she felt no cleaner. She only felt more aware of the bruises, the bite marks, the lingering scent of him that seemed to have seeped into her very pores, a musky, primal perfume that marked her as his property.

When she emerged, shivering and raw, Isabella was waiting. But she was no longer in the casual, unbuttoned blouse from the morning. She had transformed. She wore a pair of impossibly tailored cream-colored silk trousers that draped like liquid over her long legs, and a matching blouse, buttoned with a single, elegant pearl at her throat. On her feet were impossibly high Louboutin heels, their red soles a flash of dangerous color. Her dark, wavy hair was swept back in a chic, effortless style that showcased her high cheekbones and the commanding line of her jaw. She was not just beautiful; she was a monument to power and wealth, and her beauty was a weapon.

"Stop your sniveling and get in here, " she commanded, her voice sharp as shattered glass. "We have work to do."

Ava followed, her steps slow and painful, each movement a reminder of the morning’s ordeal. Isabella’s dressing room was a cathedral of femininity, far grander than the guest room Ava had briefly occupied. Walls were lined with custom cabinetry, glass-fronted and displaying a collection of shoes that would make a boutique weep with envy. A velvet chaise lounge sat before a triptych of mirrors, its surface littered with silk scarves and glittering jewelry. The air smelled of a complex, expensive perfume—something with notes of jasmine and bergamot—mixed with the rich, leathery scent of new shoes and handbags.

"Sit, " Isabella said, pointing to the velvet stool before the mirrors. Ava obeyed, wincing as her sore bottom made contact with the plush seat. Isabella moved behind her, her fingers surprisingly deft as they began to work on Ava’s hair, but it was when she turned her attention to Ava’s face that the air in the room grew thick and charged.

"My, my, " Isabella murmured, her voice a low, appreciative hum. She leaned in, her own stunning face close to Ava’s in the mirror. "Look at that skin. Like cream. Not a blemish. We won't hide this, little one. We'll just make it glow." Her scent, a cloud of jasmine and power, filled Ava's senses.

Isabella picked up a small, soft sponge. She dabbed it in a pearlescent liquid foundation, the scent clean and floral. With a touch that was impossibly light, she began to sweep it across Ava’s cheeks, down the bridge of her perfect, straight nose. Her fingers brushed Ava’s jawline, tilting her head gently. It wasn't a rough handling, but a firm, possessive guidance. Ava could feel the warmth of Isabella’s breath on her temple, a stark contrast to the coolness of the sponge on her skin. Her high cheekbones, so often a source of innocent pride, now felt like platforms for Isabella’s art.

Next came the blush. Isabella put down the sponge and picked up a large, fluffy brush. She swirled it in a pan of pale, shimmering pink. "We need a little life in these cheeks, " she purred. With slow, deliberate strokes, she dusted the color onto the apples of Ava’s cheeks. The bristles were soft as a whisper, a teasing caress that made Ava’s skin tingle. It was an intimate gesture, one a lover might use, and Ava felt a confusing warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with shame.

Then the eyes. Isabella’s expression grew more focused, more intense. "Your eyes are your best feature, " she said, her voice dropping. "We'll make them unforgettable." She picked up a fine-tipped brush and a pot of smoky grey shadow. Ava held perfectly still, her own gaze locked on Isabella’s in the mirror. Isabella’s hand was steady as she swept the color across Ava’s lids, her fingers occasionally resting on Ava’s temple to hold her steady. The proximity was intoxicating, overwhelming. Ava could see the flecks of green in Isabella’s dark eyes, the perfect line of her lips. She felt utterly captive, and a terrifying part of her enjoyed it.

Finally, the lipstick. Isabella uncapped a tube of a deep, vibrant red. She didn't use a brush. She turned Ava's face toward her with a finger under her chin. "Stay still, " she whispered. Her face was so close now, their lips were mere inches apart. Ava could feel the magnetic pull, her body leaning in instinctively, craving the contact, the approval, the affection of a kiss. She saw a flicker of amusement, of triumph, in Isabella’s eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, Isabella applied the color directly to Ava’s lips with the tube. The waxy, perfumed scent filled the air. It was the softest, most sensual touch of all, a gliding caress that felt exactly like the beginning of a kiss. Ava’s lips parted slightly, a soft sigh escaping her. She tilted her head up, her eyes closing, a silent, desperate plea for Isabella to close the tiny distance between them.

For a fraction of a second, Ava thought she would. Isabella’s lips hovered, a promise of warmth and possession. But then, with a teasing, controlled smile, Isabella pulled back. "There, " she said, her voice a satisfied purr. "Perfect. A canvas, ready for its masterpiece." The rejection was a stinging slap, a brutal reminder of her place. Ava’s eyes fluttered open, filled with a longing so profound it was a physical ache. She had wanted it. She had wanted her Mistress’s kiss more than anything.

"There, " Isabella said, stepping back to admire her work. "A canvas." She then opened a drawer and pulled out a set of exquisite black lingerie. It was French silk, delicate and impossibly expensive. Ava stood mechanically as Isabella dressed her, the cool fabric a strange, gentle caress against her bruised skin. Over the lingerie, Isabella slid a dress. It was a designer sheath, made of a fine, black knit that was so sheer it was barely there. It clung to Ava’s every curve, the shadow of her areolas, the pale, sparse triangle of her pubic hair, the cleft of her ass, all clearly visible beneath the gossamer fabric. Finally, Isabella presented her with a pair of stilettos, their heels at least six inches high, thin and deadly.

Ava looked in the mirror and barely recognized the creature staring back. It was a woman of stunning, predatory beauty, her face flawlessly made up, her body a perfect silhouette of desire. But the eyes were hers, and they were filled with a terrified, broken light. The transformation was so complete it was horrifying.

Isabella clipped the silver leash onto Ava’s collar. "Come, " she said, her voice a satisfied purr. "We have an appointment."

She led Ava not through the back, but down the grand front staircase, her heels clicking on the marble, the leash a taut, jingling line of control. King padded along behind them, his presence a silent, possessive shadow. At the front door, a gleaming black Bentley Mulsanne waited, its deep black paint gleaming under the coastal sun like a pool of polished obsidian. The chauffeur, a man in his late fifties with a neatly trimmed silver beard and an impeccably tailored uniform, stood by the rear door. He didn’t bat an eye at the sight of the beautiful, leashed woman. His expression was one of professional neutrality, as if he led leashed women into Bentleys every day. He simply opened the door. "Mrs. Wainscott, " he said with a slight bow.

The interior of the Bentley was a sanctuary of old-world luxury. The air was cool and carried the rich, intoxicating scent of the finest English leather and polished walnut. Ava sank into the supple, buttery soft cream-colored leather seat, the material enveloping her in a comfort that felt obscene given her current state. King hopped in after them, settling on the floor at Ava’s feet, resting his heavy head on her lap.

The drive into the city was a silent, suffocating affair. Ava sat rigidly, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. She was acutely aware of everything. She was aware of the sheer dress, how it clung to her like a second skin, how the firm, perfect roundness of her young breasts shaped the fabric, their embarrassed, hard nipples clearly visible, not just as shadows but as points of desire that drew the eye. She was aware of the leash coiled on the seat between them, a silver symbol of her reduction, a physical connection to the woman who owned her. She was aware of King, sitting on the floor, staring at her with a bold, unflinching gaze, a possessive stare that refused to release her from his power even for a moment.

And...she was aware of Mistress Isabella... “Mistress Isabella” she thought to herself, a name Ava had so easily slipped into using, a goddess of demanding control who sat beside her, radiating an aura of absolute authority. Isabella sat there behind her dark glasses, not even deigning to pay her the slightest attention. Ava sat nervously, fidgeting with the hem of the dress, her mind a maelstrom of uncertainty. She didn’t know her future, didn’t know if she was pleasing or offending with every small twitch and breath. She was directionless, a beautiful object in a luxury car, sitting quietly and waiting for a command.

The Bentley pulled into a parking lot and came to a stop in front of a small store. A sign outside read, “Purified Perfection.” The driver opened the door, and Isabella existed the vehicle, leading Ava on her leash. With a word from Isabella, King remained behind. It turned out that the store was a boutique pet shop, all glass and chrome, its shelves stocked with designer collars and imported gourmet kibble. Isabella led Ava inside, the leash tight in her grip. The air smelled of disinfectant and wet fur, and the staff watched with open curiosity as Ava shuffled behind Isabella in her heels and sheer dress. In the store, Isabella bought a pet collar for Ava alone and had a tag engraved with her new name, “L’il Anal Ava – Property of King.” It was a humiliation. It was true, but it was a humiliation. Isabella let Ava from the store and they returned to the car. The women continued to their errand.

The cityscape outside the tinted windows began to change from the manicured perfection of the coast to the gritty, vibrant energy of downtown. The car stopped in a part of the city Ava didn’t recognize, a street of high-end boutiques and exclusive art galleries.

Isabella got out, and with a sharp, irresistible tug on the leash, she pulled Ava from the car. "Heel, Ava, " she commanded, her voice crisp and clear. The words hung in the air, a deliberate and public humiliation. Ava succumbed to the pull, stumbling slightly in her high heels as she fell into step behind the woman, a girl being made to heel like a dog.

The effect on the sidewalk was instantaneous. Heads turned. Men stopped and stared, their eyes raking over Ava’s body with a raw, undisguised hunger. A businessman in a suit, his phone held to his ear, simply stopped talking. The phone slipped from his grasp and clattered to the pavement, but he didn't notice. His mouth was agape as he took in the vision before him: the breathtaking, green-eyed goddess leading this exposed creature of sublime beauty, her submission so clear, so absolute, it was a part of her allure. It was an image he would bring to mind in the dark of night for years to come.

Women looked on, their expressions a complex mixture of shock, envy, and pure, undisguised disdain. Ava could feel their judgment like a physical weight, their silent condemnation a thousand times more cutting than any catcall. She's just a whore. Look at her, paraded around like an animal. So pathetic. But beneath the scorn, a flicker of something else. A suppressed hunger to be in Isabella’s place, to hold that leash, to own that sexual thing of beauty. Some of them, Ava could see, were quietly aching to be in her place—to be submissive, to be objectified, and to be so intensely desired.

"Mira, mami, " a group of Hispanic men leaning against the scaffolding of a building under construction called out. One of them let out a sharp, appreciative whistle. "I'd like to take a walk with you, " another called, his voice loud and crude. "Hey, beautiful, I would love to have a nice pink lipstick ring around my dick from those pretty lips!"

Ava’s cheeks burned with a deep, painful shame. She wanted to shrink, to disappear into the cracks of the pavement, to melt away into nothingness. But King was there. He moved closer to her, his body a protective, territorial barrier. He let out a low, rumbling growl, but it wasn't a sound of simple warning. It was a growl of possession, of bragging. It was the sound of a beast warning off all others from the prize he had claimed. The men’s laughter died in their throats, replaced by nervous glances at the massive, powerful dog. Ava felt a confusing mix of gratitude for his protection and a fresh wave of humiliation at being his guarded prize, his bitch on display for all to see, his desired trophy.

Isabella led them to a discreet, unmarked door between a high-end boutique and an art gallery. The name, etched in small, elegant script on a brass plaque, was "The Perfect Lotus." She pushed it open and stepped inside, and Ava meekly followed, her heart a confused drum. The air changed instantly, becoming hushed and scented with sandalwood and expensive oils. The soft, resonant hum of Tibetan bowls created an atmosphere of serene tranquility. It was an exclusive salon, all dark woods, frosted glass, and soft, ambient lighting. A few days ago, Ava might have aspired to marry someone who would treat her to a place like this. Now, reduced to the creature she had become, she felt she was not even worthy to breathe the same air. She was an object, a piece of filth brought into a pristine sanctuary.

Behind a sleek reception desk stood a stunningly beautiful Asian girl, her beauty so exquisite it was almost painful. Her nameplate read "Meng Yao." She wore a simple but elegant black sheath dress that clung to her slender, perfect figure. Her hair was cut in a sharp, glossy bob that framed a face with delicate, high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes the color of dark honey. She was a vision of disciplined grace, and Ava could feel the desire of everyone in the room, a silent, collective appreciation for her beauty.

"Mrs. Wainscott, " Meng Yao said, her voice a crisp, perfect English accent. She gave a slight, deferential bow, her gaze never quite meeting Ava’s. "Ma’am. It is a pleasure to have you with us again."

"Thank you, Meng Yao, " Isabella replied, her voice equally cool and commanding.

The clientele, visible in plush, private alcoves being treated to pedicures and manicures, looked up. They were elegant and wealthy, their faces serene. But when they saw Isabella, their expressions shifted. They recognized her as more than one of their own; they regarded her with a clear envy of her status, of the raw power she exuded. And when they saw the leashed, sheerly-clad blonde trailing behind her, not a single flicker of pity crossed their faces. They saw an object, a possession, and they accepted it without question. The weight of their collective judgment, their complete and utter dismissal of her as a human being, crashed down on Ava, defining her in this new space with brutal finality.

Just then, a woman emerged from a hallway. She was in her late fifties, her face a mask of carefully applied placidity, but her eyes were sharp and appraising. She was Chinese, with the severe, elegant bone structure of a Qing dynasty empress, and she wore a similar, though more severe, silk tunic. This was Mrs. Cho, the mistress of this domain. She showed deference to Isabella, not as her superior, but as a valued client deserving of the utmost respect.

"Mrs. Wainscott, " she said, her voice thick with a heavy, cultured accent. "Everything is prepared for your appointment. We are ready for you." She circled Ava, her gaze lingering on her breasts, her hips, her face. "Very pretty, " she declared, though her tone was one of a butcher assessing a cut of meat. "Good bone structure. Nice skin. We make good little piece out of her, yes? Very nice 'Fucky Fucky' for master."

Isabella smiled. "Four hours, Cho. I want her perfect."

"Four hours, she perfect, " Mrs. Cho confirmed. "Come back. Little Piece be ready." Isabella unclipped the leash and handed it to Mrs. Cho. The other women in the salon watched Ava with an air of cool superiority as she was led away. King followed, his nails clicking softly on the polished wood floor.

Mrs. Cho led Ava and King down a hall to a private room. It was serene, with soft music playing and the scent of jasmine in the air. A young, slender Asian girl with downcast eyes stood waiting. She was taller than Ava, and possessed a fragile, ethereal beauty that made people desire her with a protective, gentle ache. Her hair was a shimmering cascade of pure black silk, falling past her waist, and her features were as delicate as a porcelain doll. Like Meng Yao, she was Chinese, one of Mrs. Cho's hand-picked girls, all chosen for their beauty and trained to her demanding perfection.

"This is Mei, " Mrs. Cho said, yanking the leash. "She fix you." She looked Ava up and down, a sneer on her lips. "So, you a toy, huh? A little 'Fucky Fucky'. You not worry. We make you a good little 'Fucky Fucky'. We make you smooth."

Mrs. Cho snapped her fingers, a sharp, cracking sound that made Mei flinch. She barked a series of demanding instructions in Mandarin, her voice crisp and unforgiving. Mei listened, her head bowed, and then responded with a quiet, affirmative, "Sh, frn, " her voice a soft, submissive murmur. She would do as instructed. Mrs. Cho then took a seat on a plush velvet chaise lounge in the corner of the room, settling in like a queen on her throne. She watched them both, her eyes sharp and discerning, making it clear that she would personally oversee the proper treatment of her most valued client's property.

With a soft, authoritative tug on the leash, Mei pulled Ava toward her. The movement was gentle, yet it held the unyielding weight of command. Ava stumbled forward, her eyes fixed on the floor. Mei’s slender fingers, their nails perfectly manicured and lacquered in a subtle pearlescent pink, found the clasp at Ava’s collar. There was a soft click, and the leash was free. But before she set it aside, Mei’s thumb brushed against the small, engraved tag. Her head tilted, her long, shimmering black hair swaying with the movement. Her almond-shaped eyes, dark and deep, scanned the words, a flicker of intense, questioning curiosity in their depths. She looked from the tag to Ava’s face, her dark almond eyes staring into Ava’s blue eyes, a silent inquiry hanging between them, a moment of expressed confusion before the reality of their situation reasserted itself.

Mei then turned Ava gently, her touch surprisingly soft. She found the tiny zipper at the back of Ava’s sheer dress and pulled it down with a slow, deliberate hiss. The fabric, released from its purchase, fell from Ava’s shoulders, pooling around her arms. Her back was exposed, slender, fair perfection, the lines of her shoulder blades elegant and defined, the graceful curve of her spine leading down to the small of her back. It was a back meant to be seen, admired, and possessed.

"Such a pretty back, " Mrs. Cho commented from her chaise, her voice a low purr of appraisal. "Nice girl. Could almost be Chinese, with such delicate bones." The comparison was not only a compliment, but also a form of ownership, a way of measuring Ava against her own standard of beauty.

Ava’s hands flew instinctively to her chest, clutching the sheer fabric of the dress over her breasts, a futile and pathetic attempt at modesty. She had always been shy, always felt deeply vulnerable when naked, and now, under the cool, appraising gazes of these two women, that vulnerability was magnified a thousand times. She could feel the cool air of the room on her exposed skin, and a deep blush of shame began to creep up her neck.

Mei’s hands, cool and soft, caressed down Ava’s shoulders, a touch that was both clinical and strangely comforting. With gentle but firm pressure, she moved Ava’s hands away from her breasts, forcing them to hang limply at her sides. Ava felt a fresh wave of embarrassment as her body was fully exposed. Mei continued her work, stripping the dress from Ava’s arms, letting it glide past her hips until it whispered to the floor, pooling in a circle of black knit around Ava’s high-heeled shoes.

Ava was left wearing only her shoes, the black silken stockings that clung to her legs, and the delicate garter belt around her waist. Her hands returned tentatively to her breasts, a last, desperate shield. Mei, ever efficient, knelt gracefully before her. She looked up at Ava with her dark, expressive eyes and urged her to lift her feet, one by one. Ava complied, feeling utterly humiliated as Mei carefully retrieved the expensive dress, shaking it out before walking to a closet to hang it with reverence.

When Mei returned, Ava’s hands were still hiding her breasts. Mei moved to stand before her, her expression unreadable. She placed her hands on Ava’s waist and spun her to face her, then firmly pushed Ava’s hands back down to her sides, once again exposing her lingerie-clad nakedness to the room. Mrs. Cho’s gaze was sharp, dissecting.

"Look at this, " she said, her voice dripping with a condescending approval. "Such an impossibly slender waist. And a flat stomach, good for sex...good for desire." Her eyes moved lower. "Hips just wide enough to give a man something to hold onto." Her gaze settled on the small, pale triangle of Ava’s pubic hair. "And this. Naturally blonde, so sparse. We will hardly have to do anything at all to make that hairless." Ava’s blush deepened, burning her cheeks with a hot, painful shame at being so openly appraised, her most private features discussed like a product's specifications.

Mei took Ava by the hand and led her toward the reclining treatment table. Ava’s legs felt unsteady as she walked. King watched the entire exchange from his corner, his head cocked, his intelligent eyes taking in every detail of the girl’s humiliation and the other women’s control. As Ava laid down on the cool leather table, she was acutely aware of Mei’s touch—the way her fingers guided her, the way they lingered for a moment on her hip. Each touch from the beautiful, submissive girl was a confusing mix of clinical procedure and a gentle, almost sympathetic caress that made Ava’s skin tingle and her heart ache with a complicated, unwanted longing.

Mei slippd her hands down along Ava’s black stocking clad legs to her heels. Her fingers unclasped the straps of one shoe, removing it from Ava’s small foot, and placed the shoe on the floor. She repeated the performance, removing Ava’s other shoe. Mei then placed her hands high on Ava’s thigh, slipping first one stocking and then the other from Ava’s legs. Finally, she slipped her hands under Ava’s waist. Ava, not resisting, understood and lifted her hips. Mei removed the garter from Ava. Mei then took the shoes and lingerie and carefully laid them out on a table beside Ava’s hanging dress.

Mei returned and focused on Ava’s legs, directing her to lie back and extend her right leg. Ava complied, her heart thudding with a nervous dread. Her legs were long and slender, a perfect, athletic line from hip to toe, the skin smooth and fair, almost luminous under the room’s soft lighting. They were legs she had once been proud of, legs that had carried her across finish lines in high school, but now they were just another part of her to be perfected, to be permanently altered.

Mei’s hands, cool and gentle, guided Ava’s ankle into a padded stirrup. Her touch was a confusing mix of clinical procedure and a soft, almost sympathetic caress. She picked up a laser wand, a sterile, intimidating device, and after slathering a cold, clear gel onto Ava’s thigh, she positioned it against her skin.

"This is a laser, " Mrs. Cho’s voice cut through the room from her chaise. "Lasers don't work well on blondes, and you, Little Piece, are very blonde. So the power has to be turned up. This is going to hurt. Be a good girl." A cold threat entered her tone. "Mrs. Cho would hate to report disobedience to Mrs. Wainscott."

Mei looked up, her dark eyes meeting Ava’s for a fleeting moment, a look of profound apology in them before she masked it with professional stoicism. She pressed a button, and a sharp zap of light hit Ava’s skin. It felt like a hot needle being driven deep into the follicle, a searing, pinpoint of fire. The smell of burnt hair filled the air. Ava flinched, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Mei’s hand tightened on her ankle, a silent command to be still.

Mei worked methodically, moving the wand up Ava’s long, slender leg, from thigh to ankle. Each zap was a new point of fire, a thousand tiny burns that accumulated into a blanket of pain. Ava clenched her small fists, her knuckles white, tears welling in her eyes as she endured the slow, torturous destruction of the hair on her first leg. Mei then proceeded without interruption to conduct the same procedure to Ava’s second leg. When it was over, Mei put down the wand. But she wasn’t finished.

"Now we make sure it never comes back, " Mrs. Cho explained with cruel satisfaction. "We use a chemical. It destroys the follicle, the root. The hair will never grow again. Ever."

Mei pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves, the snap of the rubber echoing in the quiet room. She picked up a small bottle and a cotton swab, her movements economical and precise. She began to apply the chemical directly onto Ava’s skin, over the still-smarting, laser-treated area. The effect was immediate and agonizing. It was a raw, chemical burn, a stinging fire that was far worse than the laser. Ava couldn't help it; she squirmed, a whimper escaping her lips as the pain intensified. Her legs were on fire.

"Stay still!" Mrs. Cho barked, though a smirk played on her lips. She was enjoying this.

While the chemical still burned on her legs, Mei lifted Ava’s long, slender arms, placing one at a time in a similar supports. She moved the laser wand to Ava’s exposed armpit. "This will hurt a lot, " Mrs. Cho taunted. "The arm pits are so sensitive. But don't fight. Mrs. Wainscott will be very unhappy if you fight."

The laser on the sensitive, tender skin of her underarm was a different order of pain. It was sharper, more intense, a searing agony that made Ava’s body jerk violently off the table. A strangled cry tore from her throat. Mei’s other hand shot out, pressing firmly on Ava’s shoulder, forcing her back down. Through her own tears, Ava could see Mei’s face, a mask of concentration and a deep, pained sympathy. She was well-trained, demanding in her efficiency but hating every second of the pain she was inflicting. She conducted the treatment first on one arm pit, then the other.

As with her legs, Mei followed the laser with the chemical. The burn in her armpit was excruciating, a raw, weeping fire that made Ava sob openly. Mrs. Cho laughed, a low, grating sound of amusement. "Oh, it hurts, does it? Good, " she sneered. "It will get worse, Little Piece. But don't worry, you will survive." Ava lay there, a writhing, crying mess, her legs and armpits burning with a combined agony, feeling utterly broken and at the mercy of these two women.

The searing agony in her legs and armpits was a constant, throbbing torment, a fire that refused to be extinguished. Ava lay trembling, tears tracing paths through the sweat on her temples. She thought, prayed, that it might be over. But Mei simply moved her tray down the table, her expression unreadable. Mrs. Cho shifted on her chaise, a predator settling in for the main course.

"Now for the pretty part, " Mrs. Cho said, her voice thick with a cruel, syrupy malice. "The part that makes a girl a 'Fucky Fucky'."

Mei’s gentle hands urged Ava to bend her knees, then to lift them toward her chest, leaving her completely and utterly exposed. Ava’s face, already burning with shame, felt like it would combust. This was the most private, most vulnerable part of her, a place she had barely explored herself, and now it was splayed open under the cold, appraising gazes of these two women and the silent, watchful eyes of the dog in the corner.

"Look at this, " Mrs. Cho mused, leaning forward. "So sparse. So fine. Like a little girl. We will make you smooth like a baby doll, Little Piece."

Mei picked up the laser wand again. She applied the cold gel to the pale, blonde hairs of Ava’s pubic mound. The first zap was a sharp, searing pain that made Ava’s hips buck off the table. It was worse here, so much worse. The skin was thinner, more sensitive. Ava bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, a small, muffled whimper escaping her throat. But Mei wasn't finished. With a delicate, almost surgical precision, she moved the laser around the soft, tender lips of Ava's pussy, the light flashing against her most intimate folds. Each pulse was a new, sharp violation, a point of fire on her most delicate flesh. Mei worked with methodical precision, her face a mask of concentration, but Ava could feel the slight tremor in the hand that held her leg steady.

When the laser was finished, Mei picked up the bottle of chemical and a fresh cotton swab. As she began to apply the thick, white cream to Ava's pubic mound, the pain was a raw, blistering agony, a fire that seemed to sink directly into her nerves. But Mei didn't stop. She carefully applied the stinging cream across Ava’s entire pubic area, around her pussy and down the sensitive crease of her inner thighs. Then, she adjusted Ava's position, rolling her slightly onto her side to expose the soft, rounded curve of her bottom. Ava could feel the cool air on her anus, a place already bruised and torn from King’s brutal taking. The hair there was fine and soft, almost invisible, but it had to go. Mei applied the chemical there, too, a thick, white layer over the bruised, puckered flesh.

The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. It was a raw, chemical burn, a fire that engulfed her most sensitive regions all at once. Ava was no longer just in pain; she was writhing. Her body bucked and twisted on the table, a desperate, instinctual attempt to escape the unrelenting agony that was consuming her. She was no longer crying. She was making small, animalistic sounds of pure, unadulterated suffering. Her body was slick with sweat, her muscles trembling uncontrollably. Mrs. Cho watched, a look of profound satisfaction on her face.

"There, " she said, her voice a soft, triumphant purr. "Let it burn. Let her learn." She watched Ava writhe for a long, agonizing moment before finally speaking again. "Now you are smooth. Now you are almost perfect."

The chemical fire was still raging across her pubic mound and the sensitive crease of her ass, but Mrs. Cho was already moving on, her mind a catalog of improvements. She gestured to Mei, who retrieved a different jar, this one containing a thick, pearly white cream.

"We make you even prettier now, " Mrs. Cho announced, her voice a low, conspiratorial purr. "You already girly pink pussy, Little Piece. But these chemicals are special. They will make your little pussy and your asshole permanently pretty. Permanently pink and special. These chemicals very strong. Not legal in U.S. Chinese chemicals. Just right for a 'Fucky Fucky' like you."

Mei, her face a mask, began to apply the cool cream to Ava’s already burning pubic area. Her fingers rubbed the chemical across her clitoris, across her labia, then pushed the chemical inside of Ava. The sensation was a bizarre mix of relief from the coolness and a renewed, deep-seated stinging as the chemicals began their work. "Everyone want to fucky fucky you now, " Mrs. Cho continued, her voice rising with excitement. "She already pretty. Now she be a perfect fucky fucky. Men want to fuck her, women wish they had dicks so they could fuck her hard. Everyone, everything want to fuck her." From his corner, King let out a low, interested "harumph, " his head tilting.

Mei’s fingers were gentle but firm as she applied the cream. Then, she moved lower, her touch feather-light as she began to coat Ava’s bruised and swollen anus. Then her slender finger pushed the cream into Ava’s ass hole. The chemical began to feel like burning spikes. The pain was excruciating, a sharp, biting fire that seemed to radiate through Ava’s entire body. And that was when the sound in the room changed. King let out a low, guttural woof of approval. Ava’s tear-filled eyes darted to him in horror. She saw it. The tip of his red, pointed cock was beginning to slip from its sheath, growing hard and thick at the sight of her spread and treated body, at the scent of her pain and submission.

Mrs. Cho noticed, too. Her gaze followed Ava’s to the dog, and she saw King’s massive cock growing toward erection, then her eyes returned to Ava’s asshole. It was bruised and swollen. It had obviously been used very recently. A slow, knowing smile spread across Mrs. Cho’s face, which then erupted into a harsh, grating laugh.

"Oh!" she shrieked, her voice loud enough to echo slightly in the room. "I see! Ava not just a 'Fucky Fucky'... Ava a doggy Fucky Fucky!" She laughed again, shaking her head in delight. "She a doggy toy. She a doggy bitch. A bitch fucky fucky!" The words were a public execution of Ava's soul. Ava’s darkest secrets were suddenly known...how could she explain that she didn’t ask for this...that she didn’t want this...but she was caught...helpless to explain...a helpless doggy fucky fucky bitch...

Ava’s face, already burning, turned a deep, mortifying crimson. The humiliation was a physical blow, far worse than the chemical fire consuming her most intimate places. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could disappear.

Mei’s eyes, which had been focused on her work, flickered up. They darted to the tag still hanging from Ava’s collar, the one she had examined earlier. Property of King... As Mrs. Cho’s cruel laughter filled the room, understanding dawned in Mei’s dark eyes. It wasn't just a job. It wasn't just a client's property. It was this. Complete understanding flooded her features, followed by a look of profound disgust...and pity. Confusion grew in Mei. How a beautiful young woman, a creature like the one lying broken before her, give herself so completely to a dog, to be used by him in such a way. Mei’s eyes rose to meet Ava’s, and in that gaze, Ava saw it all: the pity, the confusion, and the dawning, horrifying confirmation of her new, debased reality. The physical pain of the defoliation and the bleach was nothing compared to this ultimate, soul-crushing humiliation.

Mei’s eyes descended back to her work...filled with emotion... Ava lay their in abasement and agony for a few minutes before Mei wiped the excess creams from Ava’s body. Then Mei brought a warm, wet towel and cleaned Ava...cleaned her of the chemicals. Ava lay there, nearly hairless from the neck down. Her pussy and asshole treated and pink...clear indications of her sensuality and pure sexuality. For men, for women...for dogs.

Mrs. Cho’s cruel laughter still echoed in the room, a sound that seemed to physically press down on Ava, crushing what was left of her spirit. Ava’s journey of humiliation was neverending. She lay broken, her eyes squeezed shut, wishing for an end that would not come.

But Mei was already moving on. She crossed the room and picked up a towel covered tray. Ava watched her. She returned and uncovered the tray showing its contents. Ava was fearful and curious. Mei uncovered the tray. On it were forceps and needles, gold rings, bells and studs.

She picked up a pair of sterile forceps and a small, gleaming gold hoop from her tray. The metallic clink of the instruments was a sharp, clinical sound that cut through the haze of Ava's pain. Ava’s eyes fluttered open, wide with a new, dawning horror. She saw the forceps, saw the ring. Suddenly Ava realized what was happening. This wasn't part of the hair removal. This was something else. Something permanent.

She tried to scramble back, to shrink away from the head of the table, a desperate, animal instinct to flee. "No, " she whimpered, her voice a raw, broken whisper. "Please, no."

But Mrs. Cho was there in an instant, off her chaise and at Ava’s side with a speed that was shocking. Her hand, surprisingly strong and smelling of expensive lotion, shot out and gripped a handful of Ava’s hair at the crown. She yanked her head back, forcing it to press hard against the leather table, holding her immobile. The sharp pain in her scalp was a fresh, sharp insult.

"Be still, Little Piece, " Mrs. Cho hissed, her voice a low, venomous whisper right next to Ava’s ear. "Don't you dare make me ruin your pretty face. You will hold still and take what you are given."

Tears of panic and pain streamed from Ava’s eyes, blurring her vision of the ceiling. She was trapped. Completely and utterly trapped. Mei’s fingers were firm as they positioned the forceps, gripping the thin, delicate cartilage of Ava’s septum. Ava looked up at her, pleading with her eyes, a silent, desperate begging for mercy. But Mei’s gaze was fixed on her task, her face a mask of professional concentration, though Ava could see a slight, almost imperceptible tremor in her hand.

Then, with a swift, practiced motion that was both brutal and efficient, she slid the needle through the septum of Ava’s nose.

The pain was aggressive and carried the echo permanency. It was sharp and searing, a radiating shock of agony that shot through her nose and up into her sinuses, making her eyes water uncontrollably. It was a deep, invasive pain, the violation of bone and cartilage. She cried out, a strangled, muffled sound of shock and pain that was choked off by Mrs. Cho’s grip on her hair. Blood, warm and coppery, trickled down her lip and over her teeth, filling her mouth with its metallic taste.

With a small, final click, the gold ring was in place. It was a cold weight, a permanent, undeniable mark in the very center of her beautiful face. The nose ring was the mark of a sexual slave, obvious for all to see. Mei stepped back, the piercing done.

Mrs. Cho released her grip on Ava’s hair, but she didn't move away. She leaned in close, her face hovering over Ava’s, her expensive perfume a sickening contrast to the blood and antiseptic. A slow, cruel smile spread across her lips as she inspected the new ornament. She reached out and, with a sharp fingernail, flicked the ring.

The jolt of renewed pain was sharp and blinding, making Ava flinch violently. "There, " Mrs. Cho purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Now everyone who looks at you will know exactly what you are. A marked little piece. A possession." She flicked it again, harder this time. "A perfect little 'Fucky Fucky'."

Mrs. Cho’s cruel laughter was a poison that lingered in the air long after she had flicked the ring for the last time. The cold weight of the septum ring was a constant, throbbing reminder of her new status, a brand of ownership in the center of her face. Ava lay trembling, the taste of her own blood still sharp in her mouth, the ghost of Mrs. Cho’s perfume a sickening overlay to the scent of antiseptic and her own burnt flesh.

Mei reached for another warm, wet towel and gently washed the blood from Ava’s mouth, cleaning her.

And then Mei was moving on. Her eyes filled with her work as she turned back to her tray. Mei pulled a pair of forceps from the tray. Standing above her, Mrs. Cho pushed her finger’s into Ava’s mouth. "Open, " she commanded. Ava tried to resist. Mrs. Cho picked up a metal pry from the tray and said, “Open that pretty mouth or I will break those white teeth. You not have perfect smile any more!” Helplessly, broken and obedient, Ava complied. As soon as she did, Mrs. Cho put a metal devise in Ava’s mouth that pried her jaws apart and left her mouth open. Mei’s fingers were firm as she reached in and gripped Ava’s tongue, pulling it out, stretching it. In Mei’s hand was the needle again. It was thick and menacing. Mei brought it to Ava’s tongue. And pushed it through. The needle pierced through the muscle with a sickening punch through, a sound that vibrated through Ava’s skull. She gagged, her body convulsing. The pressure and sudden release reminded Ava of King’s dick slipping past her collar, down her throat. Mei quickly inserted a gold stud, its weight heavy and foreign on her tongue, a constant, intrusive presence that made speaking feel impossible and swallowing a conscious effort. Mei capped the back of the stud. Mrs. Cho said, “This have special cement on the back. It not come out no matter how much you try. Not without tools. But it pretty in your mouth...and it give your tongue special talent...special talent to give pleasure.” Ava felt the alien stud in her tongue, a part of her now. Mrs. Cho removed the devise keeping Ava’s mouth open. “Next time you be a good girl. This happen easier. You lucky you still have teeth!”

But Mrs. Cho and Mei were not done. Mei picked up a pair of silver clamps from the tray, their jaws menacingly sharp. "Now we make you sing, " Mrs. Cho said her face close to Ava’s, her voice dripping with anticipation. "A pretty little song wherever you go."

Mei leaned over Ava, her long, dark hair creating a curtain around them, shielding Ava from Mrs. Cho’s direct gaze for a moment. Her touch was gentle as she positioned the first clamp over Ava’s left nipple. Mei pulled on the nipple, stretching it and twisting it. The she placed the clamp directly on Ava’s nipple. It was round and had teeth. Mei release the spring. It bit into Ava. Then Mei began to twist a nut, tightening the clamp. The cold metal bit into the sensitive bud, a sharp, exquisite pain that sent a jolt straight to Ava’s core, a confusing mix of agony and a traitorous pulse of unwanted arousal. Ava gasped, her back arching off the table. Mei then repeated the procedure on Ava’s right nipple. The pain grew. Ava was helpless. Her nipples stuck straight and tortured through the clamps on her perfect, small breasts.

Then came the ice. Mei produced a small bowl filled with ice chips. She took a piece in her gloved fingers and began to rub it over Ava’s clamped nipples, around each areola, one and then the other. The cold was an intense, shocking contrast to the burning pain of the clamps. It was a deep, aching freeze that made her nipples harden into a tight, protruding peaks, straining against the metal. It was a torture of sensation, a deliberate manipulation of her body's responses.

Mei picked up the needle. Ava’s eyes were wide with terror. She watched, mesmerized, as Mei positioned it. The needle first slid through Ava’s left nipple. It was clean, sharp agony that made her vision white out. A strangled scream tore from her throat. Mei then turned to Ava’s right nipple. Once again, she pressed the needle to Ava’s nipple. It’s sharp tip pressing into and then through Ava’s flesh. She saw it pierce directly though her. It looked surreal entering into her and then appearing again on the other side. Then it was removed. But the ordeal wasn't over. Mei took a pair of small pliers in one hand. In her other was a gold ring. Mei took the gold ring and slipped it through the hole in Ava’s left nipple, pressing the ring permanently closed with the pliers. Then a second ring went into Ava’s right nipple. Mei lifted a small bell. She lifted it from the tray. It tinkled softly, a delicate, mocking sound that seemed to echo in the sudden silence. Mei brought the bell to Ava’s left nipple and attached it to the ring there. Then a second bell was attached to the ring pressed into Ava’s right nipple. Ava looked down in horror. Her pierced nipples would be a constant, jingling reminder of her submission. Ava was adorned with two tiny, golden bells, a concert of her own shame. Mei removed the clamps from Ava’s nipples one after another, her nipples remaining standing around the rings, blood rushing back into her nipples, one pain exchanged for another.

Finally, Mei spread Ava’s legs wide, exposing her most private self, already raw and burning from the chemical treatment. Ava squeezed her eyes shut, her face burning with a shame so deep it was suffocating. This time, thee needle pierced through the delicate folds of her labia, a sharp, intense pain that made her hips buck. Two small, golden rings were inserted, their weight a strange, pulling sensation against her tender skin. Mei gently cleaned all the new piercings, her touch efficient but tinged with a sorrow that Ava could feel, a shared, silent suffering in the midst of the cruelty.

Mrs. Cho rose from her chaise, a movement of fluid, absolute authority. She smoothed the front of her severe silk tunic. "Mei, " she said, her voice crisp. "Take care of the little fucky fucky as instructed. I have other clients to see to." She gave Ava one last, appraising look, a look of pure, proprietary satisfaction, before turning and sweeping from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft hum of the lights and Ava’s own ragged, shallow breaths. She lay on the table, a mosaic of humiliation and pain. The burning from the chemicals was slowly subsiding into a deep, throbbing ache, but the new pains were sharp and insistent. The cold weight of the septum ring, the sharp bite of the nipple rings, the heavy intrusion of the tongue stud, the pulling of the rings in her labia—each was a new, permanent part of her reality.

Mei released Ava’s legs from the stirrups with a soft click. Ava just lay there, catching her breath, trying to get used to this new physical reality, this body that was no longer entirely her own. She was marked and altered, a possession.

Then she felt it. Mei’s hand, suddenly and without warning, on her pussy. Ava’s entire body tensed, a jolt of pure, unadulterated fear shooting through her. What now? What new horror was to be inflicted? But there was no pain. Instead, Mei’s fingers began to gently, tentatively, massage Ava’s clit. The feeling was a shock. It was a soft, circular pressure, a touch that was not clinical or cruel, but deliberate and sensual. A wave of confused heat washed over Ava. She had never been with a woman other than Mistress Isabella, and Isabella had only taken from her, used her for her own pleasure. No one had ever sought to pleasure her. No one had ever touched her like this, with a gentle, exploratory curiosity that was solely for her.

Ava’s mind recoiled. This was wrong. This was a violation of a different kind. She tried to resist, her hands moving down to push Mei’s hand away. I’m not a lesbian! her mind screamed. Her mouths softly pleaded, “No.” But Mei’s hands and her will were stronger. With a firm, decisive movement, she caught Ava’s wrists and moved her hands back to her sides, her grip unyielding but not painful. And then she continued.

Despite herself, Ava’s body began to respond. The sharp, biting pains from the piercings began to shift, morphing into a strange, dark kind of pleasure, a masochistic aphrodisiac that complemented Mei’s soft, insistent touch. A soft whimper escaped Ava’s lips, a sound of confusion and reluctant surrender. Ava had needed connection and compassion...Her broken spirit craved it. She begain to surrender.

Mei then slipped her long, slender, perfectly manicured fingers into Ava’s dampening pussy. This time, there was no pain, only a slow, deliberate exploration. She slid her fingers in and out, her movements fluid and knowing. The feeling was exquisite, a gentle stretching and filling that sent waves of pleasure radiating through Ava’s core, chasing away the lingering fire of the chemicals. Her hips, of their own accord, began to move in a slow, rhythmic sway, meeting Mei’s strokes. Mei’s touch massaged Ava’s body and soul.

Then Mei descended her head to Ava’s exposed sex. Ava gasped, her eyes flying open. She felt the first shocking, wet touch of Mei’s tongue caressing her pussy. It was a soft, velvety stroke, a gentle exploration that was more intimate and more pleasurable than anything Ava had ever imagined. One submissive was pleasing another. Mei’s tongue was a thing of beauty, long and agile, and she knew exactly how to use it. She traced the delicate folds, her movements slow and worshipful, her tongue lapping at the new rings, the metal warm against her flesh. The scent of Ava’s arousal, clean and sweet, filled the room, mingling with the sterile scent of the salon. Mei sucked Ava’s clit into her mouth, her lips forming a perfect, soft seal around the sensitive nub. She sucked gently, rhythmically, her tongue swirling around the tip, sending jolts of pure electricity through Ava’s body. In her mouth, Mei could taste the faint, sweet saltiness of Ava’s arousal, a taste she savored.

Mei then pulled her glistening fingers from Ava’s pussy and raised them to Ava’s lips. Ava looked at them, coated in her own slick wetness, and without reluctance, she opened her mouth and took Mei’s fingers in. The feeling was intensely intimate. She tasted herself, a clean, slightly musky flavor, on Mei’s skin. She sucked gently, her tongue swirling around the long, elegant digits, submitting in the most profound way to another submissive. Mei’s wet fingers then descended to one of Ava’s breasts, caressing the soft mound, circling the tender, pierced nipple, making the tiny golden bell jingle softly. At the same time, Mei’s mouth and tongue moved lower, to Ava’s puckered, bruised anus. The feeling was shocking, a forbidden pleasure that made Ava cry out softly. The wet, gentle pressure of Mei’s tongue against the sore, sensitive flesh was a strange and potent balm, a healing intimacy that made Ava feel seen and cherished in her brokenness. It was an act of complete acceptance, of taking even the most used and violated part of her and worshipping it.

Mei’s mouth returned once again to Ava’s pussy, her movements more confident now, more urgent. She was obviously experienced in the art of pleasing women, her tongue and fingers working in perfect, intoxicating harmony. Ava could no longer control herself. Her hands flew up, not to resist, but to grip Mei’s gorgeous, glossy black hair, her fingers tangling in the silken strands. The contrast of her pale hand against Mei’s dark hair was beautiful, a vision of two different kinds of beauty coming together in a moment of pure, raw intimacy. The sounds Ava made were no longer whimpers of pain, but soft, breathy moans of pleasure, her body arching, her hips grinding against Mei’s talented mouth. Mei, for her part, was lost in the act of giving pleasure. Her eyes were closed, her face a mask of concentration and deep, genuine arousal, her own soft moans vibrating against Ava’s flesh.

The orgasm, when it came, was not a violent explosion, but a slow, overwhelming wave. It started deep in Ava’s core, a tightening coil of pleasure that grew and grew until it crested, washing over her entire body in a warm, blissful tide. She cried out, a long, shuddering moan of release, her body trembling uncontrollably as the pleasure pulsed through her, a cleansing, healing force that washed away the pain and the humiliation, leaving only a profound, aching connection.

When it was over, Ava lay limp and panting, her body slick with sweat. Ava’s spirit was caressed. Mei gently kissed her pussy one last time, a soft, reverent farewell, before standing. She walked to Ava’s side, her face descending toward hers. Her long, dark hair cascaded around her, falling onto Ava’s blonde hair, each silky strand a soft caress against her cheek. Then Mei lowered her mouth to Ava’s and kissed her, deeply and long.

It was a kiss of connection, of shared understanding. Their soft lips met, mingling and pressing together. Ava could taste the faint, sweet flavor of her own sex in Mei’s mouth, a taste that was no longer shameful but sacred. Their tongues met, a slow, sensual dance, their breath mingling as they inhaled each other, breathing each other in. It was a binding, a silent vow between two submissive women who had found a moment of tenderness and love in the heart of their degradation. It was a connection that went beyond words, beyond pain, a recognition of their shared soul.

Finally, slowly, the kiss ended. Mei rested her forehead against Ava’s, her dark eyes looking deep into Ava’s blue ones, a universe of pity, affection, and shared understanding passing between them.

After their lips parted, the lingering warmth of the kiss was a fragile shield against the cold reality of the room. Mei moved with a quiet efficiency, her touch once again professional, but now imbued with a lingering softness. She took a soft cloth and gently wiped the tear tracks from Ava’s face, removing the smudged makeup. She reapplied Ava’s makeup with a light, expert hand, enhancing her bruised, ethereal beauty without masking it. She then sprayed a fine mist of perfume onto Ava’s neck and wrists, a light, floral scent that was a stark contrast to the sterile, chemical smells that had clung to her before.

Next came the redressing. It was an intimate act, a reversal of the earlier clinical stripping. Mei slipped the delicate black silk garter belt around Ava’s waist, her fingers brushing the skin of Ava’s hips. She then knelt, her dark head bowed, and expertly rolled the sheer black stockings up Ava’s long, slender legs, her hands caressing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Ava stood, naked and hairless, designed and dressed for sex, as Mei guided her arms into the sheer black dress. The fabric whispered against her skin, and her newly hairless body, her smooth pussy and the curves of her ass, were clearly visible beneath the gossamer fabric. Finally, Mei knelt again, putting the high-heeled shoes on Ava’s feet and fastening them with delicate clicks.

King watched the two women from his corner, not interfering, his head cocked, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air, thick with the new scent of Ava’s arousal and Mei’s perfume. He enjoyed watching the girls, a low, contented rumble in his chest. He would remember this.

Mei stood and clipped the silver leash back onto Ava’s collar. She gave a gentle tug, and Ava, her body sore and her mind reeling, followed. The beautiful Asian girl leading the delicate blonde on a chain. The blonde submissive submitting to the Asian submissive—a submissive to submissives. As they entered the reception area, patrons watched them, their eyes a mix of envy and disdain. It was exactly four hours after the salon had received her.

Just then, the door opened and Isabella swept in exactly on time, a vision of cool, untouchable power. She saw Ava immediately, and a flicker of satisfaction crossed her features. Mrs. Cho appeared from a hallway, as if summoned. She took the chain from Mei’s hand. "Look, " she said, her voice proud. "She all done. She just right, just right for her purpose...little fucky fucky. Just right for her master." Cho looked down at King, who thumped his tail once against the polished floor. "We take good care of her."

"Inspect, " Mrs. Cho said, presenting Ava like a prize animal.

Isabella’s inspection was public and thorough. She circled Ava, her eyes raking over her. She touched Ava’s hip, her waist, her ass. She ran a hand down Ava’s back, feeling the smooth, hairless skin. She lifted Ava’s dress, her eyes scrutinizing Ava’s hairless pussy. She stood and tapped the new septum ring with a fingernail. "Open your mouth, " she commanded. Ava obeyed, and Isabella inserted her fingers, feeling the stud on Ava’s tongue with a proprietary air. She then reached up and pinched Ava’s nipples, hard, making Ava gasp. For her own amusement, she flicked the bells, making them tinkle. "Yes, " Isabella said, turning to Mrs. Cho. "You have worked wonders as always, Mrs. Cho."

Mrs. Cho cackled, a dry, rustling sound. "Yes, she very special. She will be a good one...and good girl." Ava’s eyes darted around the room, a desperate, hopeful look for Mei, but the beautiful Asian girl was already gone, vanished back into the hallways of the salon. The dream world of Mei was gone, and Ava was returning to her own reality.

Isabella took the leash from Mrs. Cho, but she didn't keep it clipped on the collar. With a swift, cruel motion, she moved it and snapped it onto Ava’s septum ring. The sharp tug on her nose was a jolt of pure humiliation. "Heel!" Isabella commanded.

The heavy leash on her nose was a constant, pulling weight, making her eyes water. Ava wanted to bend, to bow her head in submission yielding to the painful weight of the metal leash on her nose, but Isabella demanded that she stand straight. "Represent me well, " she hissed. Ava felt the full weight of her predicament as they once again entered the street, people watching, staring at the beautiful, cruel goddess leading the leashed, ringed creature. They returned to the Bentley, the driver opening the door for them without a flicker of emotion. Isabella, King, and Ava entered the car.

As they drove away, Ava sat in her accustomed spot, King’s head on her lap. She sat rigidly, hoping, praying, that Isabella would look over at her with a flicker of approval, with any acknowledgement following her ordeal. But Isabella didn't look at her. She stared out the window, her profile a perfect, cold mask of indifference. Ava was an object, not a human worth acknowledgement. The ride home was silent, and Ava was once again, alone.