"Stand up, Dog. We are going back to the cage."
The command was a physical force in the silent executive suite.
Yanna tried to stand. Her knees, trembling violently from the forced, agonizing climax under the desk, buckled instantly.
"I... Sovereign, the legs are failing," Yanna gasped, her hands slipping on the thick carpet.
Camille did not offer a hand. She wrapped the leather leash around her taped fist and pulled.
Jerk.
The rigid three-inch collar bit savagely into Yanna's windpipe. The D-ring dragged her upward, forcing her to follow the trajectory of the leash or have her trachea crushed. She scrambled, her clear plastic heels scraping against the floor, forcing her spine to lock upright.
"Did I issue a request for a structural report?" Camille asked, not looking back as she strode toward the heavy mahogany doors.
"No, Mistress."
"Did I ask if the legs were failing?"
"No, Sovereign."
