The alarm wasn't supposed to go off yet.


“Beep Beep Beep BEEP BEEP BEEP”, the heart monitor purred, followed by Sebestian’s muffled screaming and cursing - it is hard to articulate vowels when there’s a ball gag in his mouth. It’s all supposed to be hindrances to the questionable activities I am currently conducting, but in this soundproof dungeon specifically designed to keep all vocalizations from kinky activities hush hush, the sound waves gently dissipated. And I truly don't mind what I am hearing.


What I do really mind is I spent a year planning and preparing for tonight, spent the last hour faking enjoyment in saying all the porn-ey buzzwords and corralling this ‘naughty puppy’ onto the X-rack, tying him down, and I just only poured only half a glass of water onto the handkerchief covering his face, and his heartbeat has already spiked 200BPM. I mean the water is just barely starting to drip from the corner embroidered with his initials S.v.B. It’s 2024, and someone possessive enough to mark his territory on a shit piece of fabric, plus all the furniture in the villa, deserves all the karma I am about to unleash on him.


Karma can be a lot of things, like dramatically dying of a heart attack during an innocent game of role playing, but the karma I wanted to exact on Sebestian is not his physical demise, because there is no ROI. I've invested time and money to go to dominatrix workshops, acquiring high end BDSM and photography gear to jack up my Fetlife street cred, gym time to build up whipping strength, attend hacker cons to learn spoofing GPS locations, plus extra bedside sacrifice for supplemental tutorials on setting up bogey identities so that I can setup multiple virtual wallets on a stack of burner phones, AND all the overpriced cocktails I bought during the kink community munches to position myself closer to Seb. Sometimes, I get some returns by way of play sessions with icky dudes (their total lack of attractiveness are pretty helpful for humiliation play though). Not that I want to whine while getting paid and getting in some practice time, but if I have to commit my full attention on a single person for 1-2 hours I do hope for some likeable attributes to ease my boredom; it's not like I have a writer's room to provide a smorgasbord of variations for the finite number of themes during these sessions. Let's be real, how many synonyms are there for the word ‘naughty’, or how many euphemisms for the situation where one ‘deserves’ it. 


In all honesty, I quite enjoyed the sessions with Seb, always an eager, easily satisfied doggo with the cutest eyes, never having spidey-senses that he was just a mark, never questioning why he deserved the extra-strength, skin-splitting whipping. Aside from swift payment, he always leaves me a basket of gourmet takeaway (I see security tags slapped onto the packaging, I’ll say it’s serious food), handcrafted leather outfits (for his own gigs of course, but also an asset to jack up my fees for other clients), all wrapped with the cringey handkerchief I am using now. As the sessions went from monthly to weekly, as sessions initially within the dungeon turned to free roaming sessions within the servantless two storey villa, I was tempted to move forward my grand plan, but it has to be today. However there would be no grand finale if Seb’s rotten 58 year old heart gives out at 200+ BPMs. Biometric sensors don't work with cold dead skin, and a non-functional brain can't provide answers to security questions. So I removed the damp handkerchief and faked tenderness, caressing his perfectly toned skin, massaged his head through a meadow of meticulously conditioned grey hair, gave him belly rubs and whispered into his ear:


“Sorry, my poor poor boy, did mommy make you scared? I thought my little puppy likes to play in water, just like all other puppies do.” 


Don’t deviate from the roles, don’t give away the game. Yet. 


“Let me feed you a treat.” I followed up. The beeping stopped.


I took out a piece of chocolate nibble from my duffel bag and fed him. Then I checked his heart rate has gone down. Move onto step 2: Look for his phone. But where to start? I’ve never seen him use his phone in the villa; well, our sessions are more or less of the same structure: Naked puppy Seb is a good boy and awaits his master at the door, then got ‘caught’ being a bad boy because it pee-ed on the floor, and after cleaning it up by licking the floor dry, gets punished in the dungeon and always diligently sees his master out to atone for its mischief and get a pat on head. To help my cause, I made variations to the routine where I walk it throughout the villa to check if the bad dog has been misbehaving elsewhere, meanwhile mapping out the house in my head. Seb would even play along and began peeing in every other room as well, providing me all-access without me having made any effort. Dogs really can sense what their master wants.  


I took out my notes, handwritten and not typed on my phone of course, to avoid being accidentally saved to the Cloud, then looked at my list of possible locations for his phone. A cut out within some book in the reading room. Inside the box of a vinyl boxset. A fake loudspeaker. Under the cushions of anyone of the three rows of sofas in the cinema room. ANY FUCKING CABINET. P.T.O. More capitalized assumptions. But then it hit me, if Seb is dumb enough to not suspect me when I asked him to prepare a jug of water for my ‘dry’ throat, he may be dumb enough to just leave his phone in his coat/trousers pocket. Off to the walk-in closet in the master bedroom…Ta-da! Never doubt a woman's intuition. Now I can rush through the next steps.


Back in the dungeon, I unlocked the phone with Sebby’s paw print, opened his banking app and held it in front of his face. Security question 1, Mom’s birthday? I gave him a pen and put paper under his paws. I waved the wet handkerchief to remind him of the consequences if he screws me over with some fake digits.


“Who’s a good boy?” I play good cop.


He wrote down 11/06/1936. I covered his face with the handkerchief to let him know I’m serious while I enter the numbers. Ding! I took away the hanky and fed him another treat.


Security question 2-4. More scribbling and finger tapping and treats.


Then there was this custom security question: What’s the most precious item you threw away?


When he wrote down Claire, my eyes started to water up, and as I bypass the authentication page of his banking app, the screen began collecting drops of tears.