MasukThe reception hall was still buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses when the doors burst open. *Gunshots The shots sound were louder than they do in the movies--sharp, deliberate pops that sent everyone diving for the floor. Sophia Laurent screamed as rough hands grabbed her from behind, yanking her up from the sweetheart table where she’d been sitting next to her new husband, Mark. She’d only been married two days. Two fucking days. Her white wedding dress—lace and satin, the one she’d spent months picking out—got tangled around her legs as they dragged her toward the exit. The veil tore halfway off, dangling from her pinned-up blonde hair. Mark was shouting her name, trying to crawl after her, but one of the masked men kicked him hard in the ribs and pointed a gun at his head. “Stay down, groom,” the man growled. “She belongs to someone else now.” Sophia fought like hell, kicking and clawing, but the guy carrying her was built like a trucks. He threw her over his shoulder
The branding iron was already red-hot when Damien dragged her into the back of the barn that morning. Mia was locked in the heavy stocks, neck and wrists trapped, her ass jacked way up high on a wooden block so everything was open and ready. That monster tail plug—the thickest one yet—stretched her asshole wide open, making her belly swell a little every time she breathed. She’d been wearing it nonstop for over a week now. Her hole had given up fighting. It just stayed loose and hungry around the base. Damien ran his rough hand over her branded spot from yesterday’s practice burn, the one that didn’t quite take. “This time it sticks, pony. You’re getting the real mark.” She tried to shake her head, drooling stupidly around the fat bit gag. A weak, broken neigh slipped out instead. That was all she could manage anymore. Real words got punished hard. The iron pressed down right above her left ass cheek. Sssssssssss. The smell of her own burning flesh hit her nose first. Then the
The trailer ride over was hell. Mia knelt in the back, hooded, bit in her mouth, tail plug locked deep and shifting with every bump in the road. Her knees were bruised raw from days of crawling, tits still sore from the clamps Damien had left on her nipples for hours that morning. The harness cut into her skin, the crotch strap rubbing her swollen clit raw. Every time she tried to adjust, the plug tugged and her asshole clenched around it like it was trying to suck the damn thing deeper. She could hear voices when the trailer finally stopped. Low, rich, laughing. The kind of people who paid stupid money to watch girls like her get destroyed in public. Damien yanked the hood off and dragged her out by the lead attached to her collar. Cool night air hit her naked, marked skin. They were behind some fancy private estate, floodlights cutting through the dark. A small crowd of maybe thirty people waited near a floodlit paddock—men in expensive suits, a few women in tight dresses, all
Mia woke up to the clank of metal and the ache between her legs. The thin blanket had slipped off during the night, leaving her naked on the stall floor, wrists still cuffed behind her back. Her shoulders burned. Dried cum was on her ass and thighs. The concrete was cold and unforgiving against her tits and knees. She smelled like sex and horse shit. The stall door rattled open. Damien stood there in work boots and jeans, no shirt, sweat already glistening on his chest like he’d been up for hours breaking something. Or someone. A thick leather harness dangled from one hand, and in the other he held a black rubber tail plug that looked obscene, appearing fat, flared base, long coarse black hair trailing from it. “Morning, pony. Time to start earning your keep.” He unlocked the cuffs. Mia screamed as blood rushed back in. She didn’t dare stand. Last night’s lesson still burned in her sore cunt. “Up on all fours. Now.” She dropped to her hands and knees, ass high, back arch
Mia’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking as she gripped the steering wheel of her beat-up truck, the engine rattling like it was about to die right there in the gravel lot behind the old stables. The place smelled like hay, shit, and money—old money that didn’t give a fuck about girls like her. Twenty-eight years old, body still tight from years in the saddle, but her career was circling the drain. Two bad falls, a string of last-place finishes, sponsors ghosting her texts. The bills for her mom’s meds weren’t gonna pay themselves. She’d heard the rumors about Damien Black. Everybody in the circuit had. The man who turned broken riders into something else. Something that won. Something that *belonged*. The barn door creaked open before she even knocked. He filled the frame—six-four easy, shoulders like a draft horse, black hair cropped short, a scar slicing through one dark eyebrow. His eyes dragged over her like he was already pricing her out. Black jeans, black shirt stretched across a
Three long, degrading months had passed since Sophie Morgan first entered Crowe Private Clinic as an innocent, struggling young woman. That girl was dead a while ago now. In her place existed something far more broken and beautiful: Dr. Elias Crowe’s personal clinic breeding pet. Patient 001. A permanent resident of the hidden underground medical wing. Her old life had been completely erased with ruthless efficiency. Her apartment was cleared and sold. Her job resigned. All debts paid. Her mother quietly relocated to a better facility with full coverage. No one was looking for Sophie anymore. To the outside world, she had simply vanished. She now lived 24/7 in the luxurious yet clinical underground suites. She was kept naked at all times except for the permanent black leather collar locked around her slender throat. The engraved silver tag on it read in elegant lettering: **“Dr. Elias Crowe’s Exclusive Breeding Pet – Property. Do Not Remove.”** Her body had changed under the







