Page 117 of My Wild Pet

I slip an arm around her waist. “Yeah.” My gaze settles on the child in the mural. I wonder what our son will grow up to be in this place, someone free and maybe even unafraid. “Orion will never have to fight in an arena. Never wear a collar. Never be breed. Never be owned by another.”

Briar nods. “He’ll just… be. Our Orion.”

At the sound of his name Orion says uncertainly, “Papa… maison.”

I have a sudden rush of affection for this little boy who wants to go “home,” even though we’ve only just built this life here. “D’accord,Orion,” I answer quietly, lifting him into my arms. He clings to my shirt, relief reflected in his green eyes. The same green eyes that I looked into for twelve years of my imprisonment. “It’s all right,” I murmur in French, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “On rentre à la maison, d’accord?We’ll go home.”

He nods, his tiny grey hand clasping my thumb. I stand, holding him close, and head down the winding path. I pause by the wind chime I made, now set up near a small patch of blooming flowers. I hold Orion up so he can tap one of the metal rods gently, letting a soft, resonant note ring out.

“What do we call that Orion?” Briar asks in English.

“Chime,” he answers.

Briar and I share a smile. There’s something very fitting about Orion, Aefre’s son, speaking French and English, and this is something we take pleasure in every day. And one day, we hope he grows up to be just like the man who saved us, Gael the Returner.

Every citizen of Haven who can pass for an Imperial is trained in their ways to serve as Protectors of Haven. As far asI’m concerned nothing could be more fitting. And in this way, Orion is loved and cared for within the community in the same way as the human children.

“We’re really here, aren’t we? Actually…living. No simulation could last this long, could it?” I ask Briar as we reach our humble three room cottage.

“We really are here, Gabriel, it’s not a dream. Childbirth hurt too much for that.”

I kiss the side of her cheek remembering my first request. The first sign I couldn’t fully ‘just act human.’ Soon after Orion was born, I asked her to breastfeed me too. Briar was reluctant at first. But after some thought she allowed me. However, in doing so, she cured me of the Imperial way I had been trained to crave the act. Briar made it sexual and about two adults loving each other. And it was a way for her to give me a piece of my humanity back. And I stopped wanting to feed from her before Orion was three months old. It just felt wrong then.

But other habits have been much harder to break.

Orion finally dozes off in the next room, his little breaths steady and comforting. I stand at the doorway, watching Briar as she tidies away a few things, then gives me a soft smile.

I love this woman, this life we’ve built since escaping. But there are nights when the shadows of captivity still press down on me, threatening to choke out all sense of normalcy.

I swallow. “Briar,” I begin, voice unsteady. “Est-ce que tu peux…? Can you…?” Even after two years of freedom, my throat tightens at the words.

She sets down a small plush toy. “If that’s what you need tonight.” Her eyes reflect understanding, not judgment. An acceptance of the parts of me that never fully healed.

We retreat to our bedroom—ourspace, no cages, no cameras, no technology. The door closes with a soft click, sealing us in a sanctuary that, ironically, sometimes becomes a stage for the old roles I can’t quite let go of. My pulse quickens as she opens a small trunk we keep hidden in the corner, removing a narrow leather leash. She offers it to me with both hands, her gaze unwavering.

I inhale shakily, trying to anchor myself in the present—reminding myself this is a choice we both make, not something forced. “Merci,” I whisper, feeling the hot sting of tears at the corners of my eyes. My captive past is a tangle of pain and identity, and though we’re free, a piece of me still craves the twisted familiarity of submission and control.

“Undress,” I tell her. Then with trembling hands, I slip the collar around her neck and she slips another collar around my neck.

She touches my wrist as a silent reassurance. “I trust you,” she says. Her acceptance is part of my healing, even as it feeds the darker side of my psyche that seeks release through the very acts that once enslaved me.

I lead her gently to the bed, the leash draping between us. My heart hammers in my chest. This is the moment I simultaneously fear and crave. “Je suis désolé,” I murmur, choking on the apology. “I hate that I need this sometimes.”

She tilts her chin up, eyes warm with empathy. “You’re not forcing me, Gabriel. I choose this because I love you, and we’re free to rewrite what these chains mean.”

Her words stir something in me, shame, gratitude, and desire.

“Hands and legs out,” I tell her and she obeys. Then I tie her wrists and ankles with fabric strips. I shudder with each knot. Sometimes, just the simple act of binding her wrists and ankles is enough but not today. Not after seeing those new members.

Then I take a small leather whip and I begin to strike her beautiful body. Her skin turning red where the leather licks her. “Count,” I command her in Imperial.

“One, two, three…” she stumbles as I strike her vulva, increasing the pain.

I stop and rub her there, my fingers slipping into her wet labia. Then I grab my own leash and pull hard, like Aefre used to do before a breeding. I still hear the sound of his voice in my head, ‘Smell that desire, Ember? You must bring her to climax first or you’ll be hurting her. Understand? There’s your reward. Good boy.”

I think all of these things as I lick Briar between her legs. I circle my tongue around her clit and then use long strokes across the entirety of her vulva. This is the way Aefre wanted me to do it and a style I no longer use because it’s not my own. But on nights like tonight, I do everything as Aefre used to instruct me.

Soon Briar’s muscles are contracting around me and the scent of her desire is so strong I want to continue licking her, but I pull on my leash again and imagine Aefre’s voice in my head, “That’s a good boy. Seven minutes. Not bad. Now enter her slowly. She’s got a small vagina; you don’t want to hurt her. Don’t give into your human barbarism. You want to breed a happy human pet, don’t you?”

---