"Crawl to the shower."
The command was absolute.
Yanna dropped to her hands and knees. The heavy, three-pound tungsten plug shifted violently, slamming against her bruised internal walls. She dragged her body across the pristine hardwood floor of the penthouse, the silver collar catching the afternoon light.
"Keep the pace, Dog," Camille's voice tracked right behind her.
"I am keeping the pace, Sovereign," Yanna gasped, her raw inner thighs scraping against the floorboards. "The hardware is heavy."
"Dishware does not complain about its weight," Camille stated. "Dishware moves to the sink to be scrubbed."
Yanna reached the slate-tiled master bathroom. She crawled directly into the center of the massive glass shower enclosure. She collapsed onto the cold stone, panting, thick strands of saliva dripping from her split lip.
