The Pet – Romance in a Few Acts V

This story is a continuation of Part 4, and to fully understand the events, it is preferably to be familiar with Part 3.

The story with all illustrations can be read on my Patreon.

Chapter 1

Inga Nielsen. A suite is reserved under my name.

A slender brunette stood at the reception desk of a luxury hotel. A perfectly styled shoulder-length bob framed her face. A light business suit accentuated her figure. Calm confidence radiated from her expression.

— Room 1369. Your key. Welcome, Miss Nielsen.

Inga nodded, took the key, and walked toward the elevator. Her stride combined precision and grace. Reaching the correct floor, she entered the room and hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign.

After a brief glance around, she placed a chair in the center of the room. From her handbag, she took out a vibrator, sat down, and held it firmly between her thighs. Lowering her head, she went still, waiting.

The first pulse ran through her body without warning. Seconds later, the door opened.

Mistress Smooth entered.

A small black remote rested in her hand. She pressed a button — a short vibration, like a greeting. Inga lowered her head further.

The Mistress Smooth settled into an armchair.

 

The conversation began.

Inga answered.

It resembled a psychoanalytic session — except the patient sat with lowered eyes, a vibrator between her legs, while the “psychologist,” dressed in a dominatrix suit, replaced note-taking with occasional presses of a button, sending waves of mounting arousal through Inga’s body.

After about thirty minutes, her responses began to falter, broken by pauses. She was struggling to hold back the inevitable.

Mistress Smooth rose. She took a set of clippers from her bag and approached at an unhurried pace.

Vibrations pulsed beneath Inga’s skirt. Her body trembled.

— You’ve been a good girl. You deserve a reward.

Slowly, almost tenderly, the Mistress removed her wig.

Beneath it — uneven regrowth, just over an inch long.

The wig fell to the floor.

 

Her fingers moved across Inga’s scalp.

— We’ll remove this unpleasant fur… You’ll be clean again…

Without finishing the sentence, she switched on the clippers and drew a firm, steady line from the center of Inga’s forehead to the nape of her neck.

Inga broke.

A powerful orgasm shattered what remained of her control. Her head fell back, her mouth parted, her eyes rolled.

 

The Mistress worked quickly and precisely, shaving her head as her body shook in ecstasy.

The clippers and the vibrator stopped at the same moment.

Inga breathed heavily, recovering.

Calmly, the Mistress applied shaving foam and picked up a straight razor. Her movements slowed, sharpened. She removed every last trace of hair.

When she finished, she examined the result with care.

Then she leaned close to Inga’s ear. Behind it, the letter S was visible.

In a soft, low voice, she whispered:

— …and smooth.

— Smooth… — Inga moaned.

The Mistress straightened and pressed the button again.

Another orgasm surged through Inga — deeper, stronger.

When the vibration ceased, her strength was nearly gone.

By then, Mistress Smooth had already gathered her things, stepped out, and closed the door behind her.

Moments later, she entered the elevator.

And disappeared.

Chapter 2

Inga sat in the office of the chief physician of a psychiatric hospital. He was reading through the documents she had just placed on his desk, his expression tightening with disbelief.

— With all due respect, Miss Nielsen, this is unprecedented. The patient is in a state of severe delusional disorder, there is a documented history of violence, she has been deemed a danger to society… and you expect me to hand her over to you?

— I’m not asking, Dr. Powell, — Inga replied evenly. — I’m executing a lawful order issued by the state oversight commission. In five years at your facility, Karina has shown no meaningful progress. According to her clinical records, her condition has only deteriorated. The commission, led by Congressman Evans, has ruled that she is to be transferred to another clinic. If you refuse to comply voluntarily, I will call the police.

— That won’t be necessary… — the doctor muttered, reluctantly picking up the phone.

— Prepare Karina K. for transfer to another facility. Yes, today. As soon as possible.

He hung up and turned back to Inga with a weary sigh.

— I will immediately file an appeal against the commission’s decision. Until then… this is on your conscience. She’ll be ready in a few hours.

Inga rose, left the office, and made a call.

— Yes, she’ll be with us soon. Tomorrow our clinic will discharge her, and we’ll go to the notary to formalize the guardianship agreement. No, your presence won’t be required. Tomorrow evening we begin the procedures. She’ll rest there, and within a week at most she’ll be with you. In the meantime, you’ll be able to move into her house as her legal guardian. Goodbye, Miss Smith.

A couple of hours later, orderlies escorted Karina out of the hospital. She looked exhausted, heavily sedated, barely aware of where she was. In the car, Inga was waiting with her assistant and a driver. The door shut, and the vehicle pulled away, carrying Karina from the place where she had spent the last five years.

The next day, Karina sat in the reception area of a private plastic surgery clinic, supported by Inga’s assistant. Miss Nielsen was nearby, filling out paperwork and reviewing the plan with a doctor.

— Let’s go over it once more. She stays here today.

The doctor nodded.

— Today we proceed with the following: we cut the frenulum and extend the tongue, insert silicone implants beneath the scalp, dye the body black—excluding the face—and apply inscriptions to the face. The dye is safe, even on sutures; it retains a deep color for up to a couple of weeks, then gradually fades depending on how often she showers. After that, we administer painkillers and sedatives, monitor healing, and once everything is satisfactory, you take her.

Chapter 3

Karina woke to the sensation of a gentle massage on her head. Beneath the touch, she felt something like a bump, a firm swelling. Her face was pressed into something warm and wet.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Wanda Schmidt — her Mistress — her head tilted back, eyes rolled in pleasure. They were in Henry’s studio. The Mistress sat in a chair, legs spread. Karina knelt before her, her face slightly pulled back from her Mistress’s cunt. Wanda idly played with the horn beneath Karina’s skin.

It began to lick her greedily, trying to reach as deep as possible with its tongue. The tongue ached faintly, though it had somehow grown back together.

— Enough, — the Mistress said calmly. — It will do something else. Take the clippers from the drawer and shave my head.

The Mistress always maintained a precise bowl-cut silhouette, and from time to time it would trim it. It noticed the word “Mistress” on her forehead — it hadn’t been there before.

It took the clippers and ran them through her light hair. Strands fell to the floor. At her command, it lathered her head, took a razor, and with steady, practiced movements shaved away the remaining stubble.

The Mistress rose, ran her palm over the smooth skin, and smiled with quiet satisfaction.

— Now — its turn. Sit.

It obeyed and lowered itself into the chair.

The Mistress took out a tattoo machine. Metal hummed in her fingers.

— You know, — she began, almost gently, — Henry always fascinated me. That’s why I became his lawyer.

The needles touched the forehead. The machine buzzed, biting into the skin. It did not move.

— But when it appeared, — she continued, — everything changed. I first saw it when you were having dinner at a restaurant. And I understood immediately: it had to be mine.

She shifted to the right side of the face.

— I was obsessed. I calculated every step.

The needles moved beneath the left eye.

— And very quickly I realized that if anything happened to Henry, I would take care of it.

The machine fell silent.

— Let it look.

It stood and walked to the mirror.

Across the forehead, uneven but bold, was etched: “Slave.” Beneath the eyes, in smaller script: “of Mistress” and “Smooth.”

— It likes it, — it said.

— I do too, — the Mistress replied. — But this is only the beginning. I have big plans for it.

It felt as if it had just heard a stirring speech, though the Mistress had said nothing.

— It agrees, — it said quietly. — And Henry?

The Mistress’s expression darkened.

— Henry? He chose to die on his own, rather than wait.

It expected shock — but none came.

— That day, he came to me to sign documents. He said he was terminally ill: late-stage cancer, a couple of months at best, and then the pain would begin. He said that when he was gone, it would be hard for Karina to bear. I promised to take care of her.

She paused.

— I thought I would see him again. But he left my office, got into his car, accelerated… and drove straight into a pole. He chose it himself.

It remained on its knees, tears running down its cheeks. The Mistress gently stroked its head.

— You’re home now.

 

Author’s afterword (optional reading).

Writing this story pulled me in deeply, and I’d like to promise myself to take at least a temporary break.

While working on the series, I followed a single principle: to turn an arbitrary fantasy into a story that would be interesting to me personally. I don’t know if it’s interesting to anyone else, but for myself, I feel I accomplished that fully.

I believe I managed to stay true to the principles of dramaturgy: the story is not a clumsy lead-up to the action everyone is waiting for, but something engaging in its own right. At certain points, I felt that all I had to do was nudge the plot in the right direction, and it would begin to write itself. I’m satisfied with all the characters — even (and especially) the secondary ones — they all feel quite alive.

There are also small details I enjoy. For example, the dominatrix’s fitting pseudonym, which I found on a bottle of whiskey (it really is there). Or the surname of the politician who rules on Karina’s transfer in the final part — it matches the surname of the client who ended Wanda’s career as a hairdresser.

In Part 3, I used the device of an unreliable narrator. In Part 5, a scene from Part 3 is fully recreated.

I feel a bit embarrassed that in the first two parts I allowed the AI to fill in details for me — it would probably be better to rewrite them now. I may return to that. In the later parts, I only relied on AI for stylistic editing and English translation.

About the illustrations. Whether they are needed in prose at all is debatable, but I personally wanted visuals, so I included them. I’m very satisfied with some of them, and not at all with others. At times I was impressed by the AI’s work, at others — exhausted by it. The last two images in the final part took me over four hours to generate, and I ended up finishing one of them manually in a graphics editor.

When choosing compositions, I tried to capture the most dramatic or emotionally charged moments of the narrative. Each image corresponds directly to the story — there are no purely illustrative shots (like simple character appearances). The portraits in doorways represent the point of view of the narrator.

Thank you for reading any part of this.