John's voice broke the silence, cutting through the air like a blade. "Bark."
The girl froze for a moment. The command was simple, but the weight of it bore down on her, a reminder of how far she had fallen. Once, she had been someone—someone with hopes, with dreams. But now, she was reduced to this.
A pitiful sound escaped her lips, something that wasn't quite human but was forced out of her nonetheless. The bark was shallow, reluctant, a feeble attempt at complying with his command.
John's eyes narrowed as he observed her response. He took a step closer, the leash in his hand like a chain that bound her to him. "Again," he said, his voice colder now, sharper. "Bark."
The girl could feel the control, the total dominance in his words. She had no choice but to obey, her body moving on its own, her pride crushed under the weight of his will. Another bark, more resigned this time, filled the space between them.
John's lips curled into a faint smile, but there was no kindness in it—only satisfaction in her degradation. "Good," he said, his voice dripping with mock approval. "You're learning your place. Now, stay there."
John watched her closely, his gaze calculating. The way she moved, the way she complied—it all fed into his sense of control. Each moment was a new layer of dominance, a new piece of her identity chipped away.
"Beg," he commanded, his voice firm but casual, as if it were nothing more than a simple request.
The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't just the command—it was the weight of what it meant. To beg was to surrender, to admit that she had nothing left, that she was a hollow shell, nothing more than an object to be used.
Her heart raced, her mind screamed in defiance, but the leash around her neck and the years of conditioning weighed down on her, stifling any resistance. She had no choice but to obey.
A trembling breath escaped her lips as she lowered her head, her body shaking with the effort to hold back the tears. Her pride had been stripped away, piece by piece, until nothing remained but the hollow echo of obedience.
"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "please..."
John stood over her, looking , his face hardening with each passing moment. He stared at the girl, his expression cold, his eyes narrowing as though searching for any sign of resistance, any flicker of defiance left in her.
"Didn't I say you can't talk?" he said, his voice low and menacing. "Only bark."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive. The girl's throat tightened, the weight of his words sinking in once more. Her body tensed as she realized the truth of what he was saying. The small bit of humanity she clung to—the faintest spark of herself—was slipping further away with each command he issued.
John's gaze never left her. "Talking is a privilege. You don't deserve it," he muttered, taking a step closer. "We need to train you harsher. Your mind needs to be reset completely."
The leash tightened as he pulled gently, forcing her to her knees once again. "From now on, you speak when I say you can speak. Nothing more."
John's grip tightened on the leash, pulling her forward with a force that made her stumble. His steps were deliberate, slow, as though savoring every moment of her submission. The leather whip hung in his other hand, its presence a constant reminder of the power he wielded, and the punishment that was always a step away.
The girl's heart pounded in her chest, the weight of her situation suffocating. She had been conditioned to obey, to endure whatever he demanded of her. And yet, despite everything, a part of her still fought—still tried to hold onto the fragments of herself that had not yet been completely crushed.
John's eyes never left her as he dragged her into the dimly lit room. The door slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing in the empty space. The walls were cold, the air thick with a sense of finality.
He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "This is where you'll learn what happens when you disobey," he said, his voice as emotionless as ever. "Every mistake, every ounce of resistance will be met with discipline."
The girl looked up at him, her mind racing. She had learned the meaning of obedience, of silence, but her spirit—though fractured—still clung to a faint glimmer of defiance. She didn't know how much longer she could hold on to it, but the feeling was there, like a distant flame in the darkest of nights.
John raised the whip, his eyes narrowing. "I told you, you don't speak unless I allow it. We need to train you harder—reshape your mind. You're nothing but a tool to me now."
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. But there was no anger in his voice, no heat in his words. There was only the cold, calculating logic of someone who knew they had already won
~~~~And so the years began to pass~~~~~
In that time, the room had become her entire world. The walls were bare, the air thick with silence. She had not stepped outside, had not seen another soul. The only thing she had seen was John, his presence an unshakable constant.
Each day blurred into the next. Every command, every movement was calculated, drilled into her mind until it became instinct. She no longer remembered what it felt like to be free. The word itself felt foreign, like something distant, unreachable, a memory slipping through her fingers.
Her body had become a shell—thin, frail, marked by the strain of months spent in the same room, her mind numb from the endless cycle of training and obedience. She didn't speak unless ordered. She didn't question. She didn't resist. There was no longer any sense of self left in her; she was an object, a tool to be shaped according to John's will.
John, for his part, had watched her closely over the months. At first, there had been the pleasure of breaking her down, the joy of asserting control. But after a year, something had shifted. The satisfaction that came with every command had dulled. He had trained her so well, molded her so thoroughly, that she had become little more than a mirror of his own will. She no longer fought back. She no longer resisted. She was a perfect puppet.
And yet, despite that perfection, John felt a growing unease.
The girl was empty—completely, utterly empty. She was no longer a challenge, no longer something to conquer. He had won, yes, but in the process, he had stripped away everything that had once made her human.
He stood in the doorway now, looking at her—his eyes cold, yet with an almost imperceptible flicker of something else. Something that couldn't be named, but that gnawed at the edges of his mind.
Her body was hunched in the corner, waiting for the next command. Her eyes were vacant, her posture stiff from the rigid training. John's gaze lingered on her, and for the first time in a long while, he wondered if he had gone too far.