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The seven deadly sins, by their nature, were meant to be extremes. They embodied the most brazen versions of certain emotions and desires. Anyone experienced arousal, but lust was so overpowering it consumed their thoughts. Anyone could get angry, but wrath was letting your every waking moment be spent spiking your blood pressure. As someone raised in a sheltered religious home, Nuck understood that the fear of these sins had been hammered into her as propaganda. That the sick feeling she felt swell inside her was nothing more than old habits. But that did not stop her from despising the feeling of envy in watching Boogie go to town with his monkey bitch boi.

Though the panther wouldn’t admit it, he and Nuck were close friends. Not close in that she’d come by to visit every now and then. More that they knew each other’s secrets. She knew his real name, his past, just as he knew hers. She knew how his tongue felt on her cunt, while he knew how tight she could be. He was the only person who could make her a sobbing wreck under the paddle, while she’d been the only one to make him crawl on hands and knees. They knew each other’s switches, forming a secret pact that no one else needed to know about.

Nuck knew Boogie didn’t keep pets. He had free range dolls he picked from the club because everyone loved the mysterious sadist with an artistic bent. But that monkey, that little twink Boogie called his canvas, seemed to be more than that. Made all the clearer by how possessive Boogie was on the dance floor.

But it wasn’t the monkey Nuck was envious of. No matter the rush of being under Boogie’s whip, the mouse preferred to step over others. The bigger they were, the more delicious it was to make them squeal. No, the mouse’s envy came from seeing just how committed Boogie was to this newfound relationship. She’d watched him play with eager subs hundreds of times, and none compared to the subtle smile across his lips as he tanned that monkey’s backside.

It was a good thing then that she’d been developing her own toy. Nuck figured she could wait until the party was dying down to make use of him, but staring through the glass floor at the debauchery underneath made her impatient. She slipped through the crowd, walked up the hall, and opened the thick curtains to the checking room where Rodney was standing guard. The rottweiler nodded her way. He wore nothing save the muscle shirt exposing gains built from regular gym visits, and a thong with a sizable bulge, made all the clearer by his spread legs atop the stool he sat upon.

“Done with your break?” He asked.

Nuck eyed him for a moment. He stared back, face flushing red after catching what she was intending. She smiled. “Inspection.”

Rodney stepped off the seat. As drilled into him, he stood tall with his chest out, holding his hands behind his head as though demanded by an officer. He spread his legs apart the length of his shoulders, leaving his thong exposed enough that anyone could notice his bulge seemed slightly off. Nuck watched the process with pride, delighted to know that he was so eager to obey the commands of a mouse nearly two feet shorter than him.

She was tempted to taunt him. To tease the black hound about how he could never take someone of her size seriously in command. But that, such as praise for following the most basic instruction, was meaningless now. He knew his place, just as she relished hers whilst stepping up to fondle the package tucked away behind the black thong. Fat orbs drenched in the sweat of the long evening, pulsing with excitement upon her touch. He tried to steady his breath but every little break was music to her. Perfection was worthless after all. It was much more fun to stress test.

Her tongue trailed along the thong, tasting its sweat soaked threads as she felt the stiff prison underneath it. Rodney’s breaths grew shorter. She wondered how long it’d been since release. “A week,” he said when asked, “A week, mistress.”

“Just a week?” She said, half playful, half surprised, “I thought it was longer from how heavy your sack is.”

“That’s not how that wor–” His reply was cut short by a quick squeeze, the first of many things she had planned tonight. Nuck’s mother used to say the quickest way to a man’s heart was his stomach. Clearly, she never held her husband’s nuts.

“I’m going to be in room three. You’re going to find people to take our spot, then knock on the door so I know you’ve arrived. Is that clear?”

Rodney nodded. From his expression he clearly wanted to argue about the scheduling, but Nuck, clearly, had his balls in her grip. She let go and turned around, rolling her short skirt up just enough to let the canine see the snack he’d be enjoying soon enough. Her lack of panties was meant to be a later surprise, but it worked as a motivator for her plaything to bend the rules.

Nuck stopped by her locker on the way over, dropping off her gear in the privacy of room three. The club had various rooms for people who preferred privacy with their play. The sound proofing wasn’t enough to block out the club, but the muffled ambiance of its music helped set the mood for commands and cries.

She replaced her skirt and top with nothing, instead using long latex gloves and heavy leather high-heeled boots as an inverse outfit. Something quick for the evening, completed with a peaked leather cap over her buzzed head. Nuck took the moment to pose before the standing mirror, appreciating not just the piercings Boogie gave her, from her studded tongue, the ringed nipples, and the stud on her brow, but the way her footwear pushed her butt out for any fortunate enough to face it.

She let the knock fester upon her door. Her reflection showed her smile as she thought upon how Rodney waited outside, his muscles tensing anxiously while other playful couples passed him by. The mouse tugged at her hanging sideburn, biting her lower lip at the idea of how eager he was and how loyal he’d been trained to be.

Waiting long enough, Nuck took one last look of her bag for what she needed. Then she opened the door, finding her hound standing tall with his arms behind his back. Restraints would have been a mercy for him. Maybe, if she was feeling generous, she’d give him some.

“Come,” Nuck commanded, directing himself with a tight grip on his sack. He yelped under his breath, obeying with his head down as he entered the room. From there she closed the door, not before hanging a sign that said not to be disturbed. She double checked to ensure she hadn’t picked one that welcomed voyeurs.

“Nadu,” She ordered, turning to find him on his knees on the floor, his chest forward, and his palms facing upward as they rested upon his thighs. The mouse bit her inner cheek to keep herself from smiling. Such a good boy. The fruits of her labors and his desires. She couldn’t let him see her praise over the most basic of commands. No, she saved that for his suffering, just how they both liked it.

“A week,” she repeated, gently holding his chin up so he’d look her in the eyes. “Have you struggled to sleep?” He nodded. “Wet dreams, or morning wood?”

“Both, mistress,”

“Of course. Tell me, what do these wet dreams entail?”

He looked away bashfully. She tightened her grip. “Remember your promise, pup.”

“Fucking you. Hard,” he said with a tight breath, “Making you squeal. Making you beg me.”

“And that scares you?”

He went white, “I’m not into that, mistress. I’m not–”

She shushed him with a finger, “You’re not dominant. You’re not a top dog, you’re the beta of the pack. I know, pup. Believe me, I know how hard that cock gets when I talk down to you. These wet dreams are nothing more than your primal urges. But they are not you. They are not your drive.” Nuck took the small chastity key hanging off her bracelet between her fingers and thumb. She slowly dragged it across Rodney’s chin, not deep enough to draw blood or even hurt, but enough to scratch like her nails. “That’s why I locked you up. So we can face those worrisome demons of yours. Because I know, deep down, you get more excited knowing that the key to your freedom is closest when my hands are squeezing your nuts.”

Rodney wasn’t her first guilty sub. Nuck had played with plenty of people. While they were all as varied as snowflakes, she found at least three categories of bottom. There were those who saw subbing as a way to atone for something, many of whom needed therapy but Nuck didn’t make it her business. Some embraced it, and could be annoying after a while. Others just saw it as another form of sex, one with a few more rules. Nuck didn’t have preferences, but she normally found the first to be the worst. Self-flagellant people with martyr complexes to justify that they get a kick out of being kicked. But Rodney was different. She couldn’t put a pin as to why, but she enjoyed his screams. She enjoyed his loyalty. She enjoyed his presence.

She enjoyed him. The reason didn’t matter.

She held his skull tight when they kissed. His tongue lowered itself meagerly for hers, twisting into a knot by her direction. She released one hand torture his flesh with scratches and pinches, rough rakes of his skin that sent endorphins through his body. She tasted his breath and wanted more. He humped the air.

“Take it off,” she commanded, wiping his drool from her mouth. Rodney slipped his thumbs through his thong, peeling the black clothing away to reveal the chastity cage doing its damndest to trap his cock. Nuck knew the appeal of flat cages, and it was why she didn’t use one for Rodney. She wanted to see his dick strain. To make that prison of plastic strain so hard it almost stood in its attempts. A man’s most important organ subjugated by a pretty black tube.

That was simply a bonus. As much as she enjoyed seeing that hot red member fail to grow inside its trap, her true love of the device was what it did to his sack. The base ring that held the cage to his crouch made his balls balloon. Not enough to hurt, she wasn’t that cruel to cause pain outside of a session, but enough that it became a ripe target for her boot to step upon.

His voice cracked as he winced. She applied more pressure. “Mistress…please,”

Please was not his safeword. “Hmm? Aren’t these mine to do with as I please?” She said as sternly as an expectant teacher to her troublesome student. Rodney nodded, and she pressed down harder.

“Y-Yes, mistress,” he muttered hastily with grit teeth, “T-They are yours. Forgive me. Forgive me, please.”

“No, no I do not think I will.” Nuck released her foot off the sack. She allowed him three deep breaths to suppress the pain before commanding he take the collar position. With a gulp the rottweiler straightened up, holding his hands behind his head and keeping his chest out. His knees, though remaining on the floor, raised him high enough to keep his sack off the ground.

Nuck knew he’d look good in a collar. One day she’d give him one, one beyond their play time. For now, this position served one purpose. One made clear when she pulled her leg back for a swift kick to his junk.

He heaved forward but did not fall. He winced in pain but did not beg her to stop, nor swear for the rush of endorphins. His legs, though they jerked, did not close to save him from the second strike, nor the third, leaving his sack at the mercy of her leather boots. Once she’d have praised him as a good pup for keeping her target clear, but that training had passed. Praise did not belong to the bare minimum.

Streaks of his precum covered the toe of her boot. Ordinarily she’d hold it out for him, make her loyal pet clean it with his tongue. But she had other uses for that instrument, something made clear to him when she wiped her boot clean. Like a good boy, he said nothing.

She urged him to the bed after removing the ridiculous, yet oh so tight, muscle shirt. The beds in playrooms came with standard cuff restraints at each corner of the bed. She locked each in place at his ankles and wrists, pulling them taut enough to keep him from moving. The metallic click of buckles and chains mixed with the hushed breaths and the stretch of cloth, forming the boat of their tango that sailed on the sea of muffled club music.

On occasion, Nuck took the liberty of feeling his muscles while she worked. Rodney, despite his complaints about looking scary, took pride in his build. He described his exercise as though chiseling a marble column. From a distance the muscles looked hard as stone but up close they were soft and spongy. His abs quiver against her touch. Reflexive fear from someone so touched-starved they willingly sought out pain from someone else. Nuck licked her lips, unable to parse which of the two of them was the most cracked.

“Poor boy,” she said without warmth. Her comfort was an icepack, needed in the right spots. The mouse slipped between his spread legs, one hand hefting his warm and heavy sack. The low light of the playroom made it hard to notice the discoloration from bruising, but her handiwork was there. She leaned in, offering a gentle kiss to the balls like it were a scuffed knee. She layered kiss after kiss against the sack, lamenting she brought no lipstick to leave her mark over her property. Better this way when she began to lick and suckle it, taking a ball in her mouth as if it were an egg.

Rodney huffed and stifled his breath. He was always a quiet one in bed, unless gagged. He always needed something to justify his struggles, like how he struggled against the bindings despite them both knowing he could stay still if she desired. Nuck, normally, would have brought a gag to fill that mouth of his, and even comment that he looked better with it, or something like it, between his teeth. Unfortunately, what she desired tonight did not work with his mouth occupied.

“T-Thank you, Mistress,” he let slip free between his hushed breaths. She didn’t acknowledge his praise at first, coyly sliding her tail into a curl so he wouldn’t see it. The praises grew louder as her tongue lathered his plastic prison. His voice cracked as she slipped what little she could into his cage’s urethral slit. It was almost like sucking a clitty, or so she imagined.

“Please take it off,” he whined, straining against the chains. “Mistress, please. Let me out. Let me out. Please, please.”

What did it say about her that she enjoyed his pathetic mewling? Not enough to answer it, she wasn’t a spoiler. The mouse crawled over him, sitting on his chest like his personal paralysis demon. There their lips touched again, her tongue once more taking its rightful place in subjugating the big dog’s pink muscle.

“Do you taste it?” She asked between breaths, “The sweat of your sack? The salt of your precum? Can you tell where my tongue has been?”

His lips mouthed, “Yes,” when words failed him. She slapped him for that, urging him to wrench his voice out so he could hear himself. “Yes, mistress.”

“This is what every woman tastes. All that salty sweat, the bitter precum from that leaky faucet you call a cock.” Rodney actually ate plenty of pineapple but she knew he liked to be talked down to more than praised. “Can you imagine how disgusting it is for me to do this? The only reason I don’t wash out the taste of your sack is so I can share it with you.”

She spat into his open maw. “Are you grateful?” She asked, ears perked and face forward to absorb every little detail from her precious bitch. The blush lighting his dark-furred face, the way his eyes gazed longingly at her, how every breath seemed to run its course through him. He’d fallen into the throes of subspace. Nuck licked her lips before slapping him again. “Are you?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She slapped him. “Louder!”

“Yes, Mistress!”

She slapped him. He reeled into the bedsheets, eyes wide like he’d been jolted awake. “Louder!”

“Yes, Mistress!” He shouted, teeth barred and fists clenched.

She felt his heartbeat through her ass, its pounding almost enough to wish she could get off on it alone. But that was not why she left him ungagged.

“I don’t believe you,” She hissed, holding his face tight enough for her nails to press into his skin. “But I know how you’re going to show me.” Leaving a puddle on his chest, Nuck stepped over Rodney’s head. She turned, spreading her legs wide to show him exactly what had been making that smell he’d been sniffing since arriving. Like a man parched of thirst he held his tongue out for her dripping juices. Trained for restraint but conditioned to be desperate. Just how she liked them.

She dropped down unceremoniously on his face. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last. She bit her lip when that tongue of his did what she trained him to do. Fuck, if she wasn’t a good teacher then no one was. “That’s it…” she muttered through tight lips, not wanting to break her persona just yet. “That’s a good puppy.”

His sack in her hand made an excellent control for his tempo. When he went too fast, too eager to try and get her off, she’d squeeze it so he’d fall in line. Too slow, and she’d give it an open palmed slap. One would think she’d leave it be if he did everything right, but Nuck liked to keep a constant pressure on his balls. It just felt right and proper to have them in her hands. As it did for Rodney to use that long flat tongue of his to slowly bring her to the edge, from which she could grind on his face once her own patience wore thin. A fault of her own, but she allowed herself to have faults when so close.

“That’s it,” she uttered, grinding her teeth, “That’s it. Right there. Almost. Almost. Don’t stop now, you big bitch. Fuck! Fuck.” Whatever decorum or control she carried washed away with the tide that followed as Rodney’s tongue crushed her damn. She let go of his sack in favor of squeezing his thighs, legs splayed out and hips pressed down against his face with the first orgasm. He coughed when she finally lifted off of him, gasping for breath with her taste fresh on his tongue.

In a normal session this would just be the first of many. But this was not a normal session. This was an unplanned mess she’d tried to make presentable with limited tools she brought. Originally Nuck planned for Rodney to eat her out on the public floor late in the evening when both their shifts were done. A nice public display of his loyalty to her while she got to lounge like a queen. Then Boogie had to show up, alongside some new bitchboi.

Finding her legs uncooperative (Rodney’s skill was worth bragging about) Nuck rolled off the bed. From the nearby mini fridge she pulled out three bottles of water, tossing both to Rodney. Forgetting he was bound, she reflexively cringed when he yelped as one hit his face and the other hit his crotch. “Shit! Shit. Sorry,” she said, genuinely mad at herself as she unlatched his bindings.

“Could be worse,” he said, smiling in a way she both hated and but still wanted to see, “Least you didn’t leave me gagged.”

“That was one time and I had to pee,” She insisted, blushing in embarrassment with the memory. It was early in his training. So early they hadn’t tried to be serious. In a way, they still weren’t despite everything. She may have held him by his balls via a cage, but she’d still not gotten him a collar.

“Good thing I found it hot,” Rodney said. He winced when he pressed the cold bottle against his sack. “So…what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, more defensively than intended.

“You don’t go this hard on me without a prior warning unless something is wrong,” Rodney argued. Nuck scoffed, not daring to look him in the eye because he was right. “You don’t have to tell me, but we both know you want to.”

“Observant little fuck, aren’t you.”

“Aside from not being little, I kind of have to be.”

Sighing with reluctance, Nuck climbed back onto the bed. There the two sat against the headboard of the bed, their bodies touching with the afterglow of sex. She imagined that anyone walking in would think their roles reversed from the size alone. Most people thought less of her because of her height. The few that didn’t she cherished. Like Boogie. Stupid, dense, Boogie.

Fuck, maybe she was envious of the twink.

“Boogie’s got a new plaything,” she said, clearing the air.

Rodney’s face dropped. “Oh,” he said with a hint of fear. He’d put on a brave face in the front, but it was common knowledge that he was afraid of Boogie. Most people with sense were, leaving only the unknowing or the crazy to see the panther. Nuck, and she suspected the monkey too, were in the latter. “So? The twink will jump soon enough.”

“No. I’m not sure he will.” Nuck couldn’t explain why beyond a hunch, but she suspected that monkey was going to stay.

“Don’t tell me you wanna take that monkey’s place.”

“And what if I did?” Nuck asked, “What if I wanted Boogie’s collar? Would you think less of me knowing I kneeled before him?”

Rodney was silent for a moment. “No. I’d worry for you. Dude scares me. Besides, I don’t think you could stand being someone’s bitch for very long.”

She snorted. The kind of giggle snort she reserved for people she was close with. The friends and family who’d tease her privately with that stupid laugh. “No. He’s surprisingly tender when on the other end of the whip. But he can’t be that way for long. It’s why we never worked out.” She scratched at the barbed wire tattoo around her wrist. Boogie gave it to her for free to help cover old scars. A sign of their relationship. It, like most things, lasted longer.

“So, seeing him with a new…I’m not gonna say partner, but that feels appropriate.”

“Close enough.”

“Seeing him with a new partner made you jealous? That’s why my balls are purple?”

“Your balls are gonna be blue if you don’t show some respect.”

He laughed. She liked his laugh. She liked his smile. Fuck, she liked him. “I’m up for another round. Though maybe you could take my cage off.”

“That cage is protecting your dick from me. Unless you want me to bite it.”

“Say no more,” Rodney said, sinking back into the headboard. The two lay in silence for a while, letting the muffled beat of the club music fill the void.

She couldn’t help but think about how she and Boogie used to cool down. Boogie was distant after sex, especially when he subbed. It was if he was ashamed of showing that side of him. Or he’d been acting it for her, knowing she wanted to make him squeal. But there were no walls with Rodney, no barriers to prevent her from burying her scalp into his side as they cuddled. She could cover him with scratches, tan his hide, and make him bleed, yet he’d still not even flinch when they were done. Maybe it was time she got him an actual collar. Boogie’s was doing nothing but gathering dust anyway.

“I’m still not sure what you saw in him,” Rodney said, “Like, no offense to your tastes, but that panther looks like he’s going to kill someone whenever he walks into the room. How the hell does he get customers?”

Nuck laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

“How?”

“Because,” she said, with an almost psychotic smile, “Boogie knows not to fuck with crazy.”