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[amaisnumber1groupie]

A loose remake of a fic i wrote yonks ago, with an extra dash of mentioned kidnapping. hope u enjoy, baby.

4 @amaichou, sorry for any grammar errors bae

Something big rumbles behind you.

Watch it, (L/N).

Strong hands squeeze your pillowy waist from behind, and you squeak.

You're sure he's going to shoot you.

No, he'll bend you over the tall stack of stolen shoes and fuck your nerve-endings raw, split open your peach and lap up all the juices, before hitting you over the head with one of those heavy little mahogany cases, courtesy of Gun.

You've really done it this time. All you wanted was to let her know you are safe.

That might not be so true now

For weeks, not a single scrap of clothing on your soft little body was bought with your hand. Nor the food glutting your rosy cheeks he'd kiss by the minute. The very ground you shiver upon now does not belong to you, and you are sharply aware of how this dependence makes you vulnerable to the various ways in which Johan can punish you.

The phone in your sweating hand grows cold and the line falls flat, crashing into the bamboo flooring with a tittering thud.

He has never been outright cruel, but he could be terrible at managing his passions.

You being the most important of them.

"Puh-please! I only wanted to call my mom! I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry... please, don't punish me, I won't try it again!"

You beg like a caught babe, a dumb broad fumbling before her disappointed patron as you posture before him in a way you hope entices him. His little sweet would never want to anger him, yet that seems to be all you're good for. Your delicate lashes or cute curves do nothing to prove him otherwise.

"Turn around. I want you to look at me."

The collar around your throat feels tighter with the thick tension that wafts between you. He stands impossibly tall before you, impassive and cold as a marble statue carved in the heat of the Renaissance fervor. You know better, he is anything but calm.

Shiiit.

The corner of his hard lips curl.

"The line on that phone has already been cut. I had only one rule for you, and you still chose to break it."

You wail.

Damn this. Damn it all.

"Fuh-fuck you! I'm allowed to call fucking mom! How dare you try to stop me!?"

Before you can continue to dig yourself a bigger grave, stern hands take hold of your slight shoulders and rock you with an impatient force. Your tongue turns to lead as his quarts eyes fix on the gleaming silver tag on your collar, writ with his initials.

"How dare I." He murmurs blankly.

You swallow.

"I sh-should be allowed to call my mom! She deserves to know I'm alive..."

He cocks his head to the side, canine curiosity in the elegant folds of his muscular shoulders.

"Does she? What would you say to her?"

You frown, watching him stare at the pout of your confused lips. Was he humouring you?

"I-, I would-"

"You would what? Give us away? Tell her I've kept you stuffed with my cock? That I've trained you to only think of crawling after me and drooling to be fucked?"

You blanch. "You haven't trained me like that at all! I'm not a fucking dog-"

"Kneel."

Your knees quake and without the barest hint of hesitation, you drop to the ground, thighs splayed and calves tucked under your cute bum.

Johan towers over you, boyish brown curls and smooth skin bellied out in their cherubic beauty by the cruel slant of his cheekbones and heavy brows.

He grins wolfishly, sharp teeth glinting pearlescent in the artificial light of your small space.

"There. Now, what were you saying? That I haven't trained you like a dog?"

You want to rage at him, but all that comes out from between your trembling lips is a pathetic little squeal.

"I'm not a dog! I'm not a stupid mutt-"

"You're a bitch."

Your teeth clamp in a sharp contraction, wide eyes stare up at him in a decadent mixture of hurt and anger.

"You're my little bitch," he croons, his long fingers reaching forward to run blissful strokes through your scalp, "you're my girl. You're my puppy that still needs her owner to guide her when she misbehaves."

Your mouth wobbles, spine frozen by the near months of steady grooming into what makes you crumble to his feet.

Helpless to the traitorous thrum in your needy clitty.

He snaps his fingers, "bark for me. If you have any idea of what's good for you, you'll do as I say.

Your eyes are pits of molten fire, but the pink spreading over your cheeks or the scent of your arousal dripping into a small puddle beneath you are not kept from his attention.

When you make no mover to do as he says, he rolls his eyes and snaps a big palm to grasp your hair. His grip is firm and you cry out at the mounting pressure, embarrassing tears blurring the edges of your vision. You quake to rapid obedience in lifting your hands to curl down in front of your chest to mimic paws.

"Wo-woof, woof, ..." You trail, humiliated.

He smirks, paternal pride gleaming in his youthfully masculine face melting your center.

"Good girl."

His pale fingers dash rapidly in front of you.

"How many fingers am I holding?"

"Th-three?" You mutter, unsure of where he is going.

He sighs, reaching to methodically undo his belt, staring down at your loveliness with the air of an aggrieved yet fond patriarch.

"I see what the problem is. You can still think."

His smile is haunting, an effervescent fury that rumbles through your bones knit from his being.

"We'll just have to fix that, won't we, puppy?"

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I'm not actually sure if this was cohesive, but o well

[amaisnumber1groupie]