Warning – Copyright

WARNING: 18+. My dark erotic stories blend explicit sexual themes with intense psychological drama, pointed satire, and highly controversial subjects. This work features extreme taboo dynamics, including fictional dub-con or non-con situations, that are essential to character and plot development. All characters are depicted strictly as adults (18+) engaged in fictional role-playing. Reader discretion is strongly advised; if these themes are offensive or triggering to you, please kindly skip my work. Thank you so much!

Note: This is dark fiction. If you or someone you know has been affected by trauma related to these themes and needs support, please consider reaching out to international support networks via the NO MORE Global Directory (nomoredirectory.org) to find confidential, free resources local to your country.

Copyright ©2026 Delisha Keane. All rights reserved.

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Leashed Girl: Forced Free-Use, Total Ownership & Noncon Pet Play Captivity Horror by a Lonely Old Man

Book 2 in the Cabin Girl Series

V1.0

1: Two Leashes, One Old Man

His hand is on my pussy.

That’s the thing I keep coming back to. Every few minutes, my brain cycles through the full inventory of what’s wrong with this picture, and every time it lands on the same item at the top of the list. His hand. On my pussy. In the dark. While he snores.

Between the Man and the Dog

Lester’s hand rests between my legs like it belongs there. Like it grew there. Like my cunt is a TV remote he fell asleep holding. His palm is warm and rough and his fingers are loose, curled just enough that his middle finger sits in the groove between my outer lips. Not inside. Not moving. Just parked.

A man’s hand on a girl’s pussy the way a man’s hand might rest on a dog’s belly. Casual ownership.

He snores. This wet, rattling, missing-tooth wheeze that fills the dark room in waves. His body is a wall of heat on my left. Flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt that smells like sweat and wood smoke and the instant coffee I saw on his counter.

On my right: Cocky.

The dog is on his side, stretched across the queen-size bed like he pays rent. His weight pins the blanket against my hip and thigh. His back legs twitch in his sleep. Dreaming about chasing something. Squirrels. Rabbits. Naked girls who fall face-first into his front yard.

But he’s on top of the blanket. That’s the thing I’m holding onto. The one small mercy in a night made entirely of large cruelties. There is a layer of fabric between Cocky’s tongue and my body. His nose can’t find my pussy through the blanket. His hot breath can’t reach me. I am separated from the dog by one thin comforter, and that comforter is doing more for my dignity than any man in Mississippi has done in the last thirty-six hours.

The Chain Between Us

Three hours ago I was sitting on this rapist’s lap while his hands toured every inch of my nude body like I was a map and he was planning a road trip. His right hand on my tits. His left hand between my thighs. His calloused fingers tracing the edges of my pussy lips while Cocky stood between my knees and let thick ropes of warm drool fall on my vulva. Not licking. Just drooling. His tongue hanging out, saliva dropping in heavy strings onto my cunt while his owner’s fingers explored the real estate next door.

Then Lester called it nighttime.

He stood me up. Walked to the front door. Stepped outside in his boots. I stood naked in the middle of his cabin, alone for maybe sixty seconds. My brain screamed ‘run.’ My legs said ‘where.’

He came back with a chain. Not a big chain. Not a Carl-style anchor-to-the-floor chain. A smaller one. Maybe four feet long. And two padlocks.

He wrapped one end around my ankle. Snugged it. Clicked the padlock shut. Then he sat on the floor with a grunt and wrapped the other end around his own ankle. Second padlock. Click.

He held up the chain between us. Four feet of linked metal connecting his leg to mine. His face split into that gappy grin.

“Together now. You and me. Connected.”

He kept saying it. Walking me to the bedroom. ‘Connected.’ Pulling back the blanket on the queen-size bed. ‘Together.’ Patting the mattress for me to lie down. ‘Ain’t going nowhere.’

I don’t know what any of this means in his head. Whether I’m a girlfriend he chained to his ankle or a dog he’s keeping from running off or some weird combination of both. Whether he thinks the chain is romantic. Whether he’s done this before.

I’ve been lying here since. Three hours. Maybe four. The dark outside hasn’t changed, which means it’s still deep night, which means morning is still a concept and not a reality.

Thirty-Six Hours Naked

I stare at the ceiling I can barely see. A water stain. Or a shadow. My eighteen-year-old naked body stretched flat under a blanket with a rapist’s hand on my pussy and a German Shepherd pinning my right side and a chain on my ankle that connects me to a man who throat-fucked me on his living room floor as a welcome gift.

‘Thirty-six hours.’

That’s how long I’ve been nude. Give or take. Maybe 24. Whatever. Yesterday morning, Theo’s boat. The bag over my head. The cabin. The scissors. The clothes falling off my body in pieces. Before that, I had never been naked outside of my bedroom or a shower. Not at the gym locker room. Not at a pool. Not anywhere. I changed in bathroom stalls. I slept in a T-shirt. I was the girl who held a towel against her chest walking from the dorm shower to her room.

And now I’ve been bare-ass naked in front of five dressed men. Five. Theo. Carl. Frank. Wilbur. Lester. Each one clothed. Each one looking. Each one touching whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

I used to see CMNF videos when I scrolled online. Clothed Male, Naked Female. I’d see the thumbnail and keep scrolling and think ‘that’s so weird, who watches that, who would be that girl, why doesn’t she just leave.’ Cute little thoughts from a cute little girl with clothes on.

Now I am the CMNF video. I’m the girl in the thumbnail. The nude one standing in a room full of dressed men. Except there’s no camera. No director yelling cut. No paycheck. No safe word. Just five rapists in flannel and denim and work boots, and one naked girl who used to think it was a weird fetish.

Lester’s fingers twitch in his sleep. His middle finger slides a quarter inch deeper between my lips. I hold my breath. He snores louder. Settles.

Cocky huffs. His legs jerk once. The bed creaks.

I don’t sleep.

Morning

The room changes. I don’t see it happen. One minute the ceiling is black, the next it’s gray. Then lighter gray. Then the shapes come. The dresser against the wall. The window with its thin curtain. Lester’s profile beside me. His mouth open. That gap where the tooth used to be. His hand still on my pussy like a parking ticket he forgot to move.

He coughs. Grunts. His eyes open. He rolls his head and looks at me. Those pale eyes with the warm surface and the still underneath.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

His hand gives my pussy a little pat. Two taps. Like he’s saying good morning to it separately.

He sits up. Swings his legs over the side of the bed. The chain pulls tight between his ankle and mine. I sit up too. The blanket falls off my chest and my 32Ds drop free into the gray morning light, and Cocky’s head snaps up from the mattress. His brown eyes lock onto my tits like they owe him money.

Lester stands. I stand. He shuffles to the kitchen. I shuffle behind him, four feet of chain between us, my bare feet on the cold floor, my tits swaying with each step. Cocky jumps off the bed and trots behind me, his nose immediately finding the back of my thigh.

The padlock keys sit on the kitchen table where Lester left them last night. He picks them up. Bends over with a grunt. Unlocks his ankle first. Then mine. The chain drops to the floor in a pile.

He straightens up. Looks at me. My naked body standing in his kitchen in the dawn light. Everything visible. Everything his.

“Be right back.”

He disappears into the bedroom. I stand there. Naked. Alone in the kitchen for maybe two minutes. The front door is right there. Eight feet away. Cocky sits between me and it, his tail thumping the floor, his tongue hanging, his brown eyes on my crotch.

Lester comes back. Warm pants. Flannel shirt buttoned to the collar. Running shoes with thick socks. Dressed. Covered. Warm.

I’m standing in the same room wearing nothing but lake mud I never fully washed off and goosebumps.

His eyes wander down my body. Back up. He nods like he’s confirmed something.

“Gotta take the pets out for a walk. Every morning.”

‘Pets.’

Not pet. Pets. Plural.

I look at Cocky. Cocky looks at me. His tail sweeps the floor.

‘I’m the other pet.’

A Collar for the Girl

Lester opens a drawer under the kitchen counter. His hand comes out holding a dog collar. Brown leather. Metal buckle. A D-ring for attaching a leash.

He walks to me. His calloused fingers find my neck. He wraps the collar around my throat. The leather is stiff and cold and it smells like Cocky. The buckle clicks. The collar sits snug against my skin, just above my collarbone. Not tight enough to choke. Tight enough to feel every second of every minute.

I stand there with a dog collar around my neck and nothing else on my body and I don’t say a word. Because what do you say. What sentence covers this.

He holds up one finger. Then he points at the floor. His hand makes a downward pushing motion. Like he’s pressing an invisible button. Like he’s telling a dog to lie down, except the gesture means something slightly different. He wants me on all fours.

He doesn’t speak. No words. No instructions. Just the hand gesture. As if I’m not human enough to understand language.

I get on my hands and knees. My tits hang free beneath me, dangling heavy in the gray light. My bare back. My ass. My pussy visible from behind. A nude eighteen-year-old girl on all fours on a kitchen floor with a dog collar around her neck.

Lester reaches into the drawer again. Two leashes. Both leather. Both with metal clips.

He clips one to Cocky’s collar. Cocky’s tail goes crazy.

He clips the other to mine.

He holds both leashes in his left hand. One dog. One girl. Both on leather leads. Both waiting for the door to open.

His right hand turns the knob.

Morning air hits my naked body like a wall of cold glass. The porch. The wet grass beyond it. The gray sky. The trees. The gravel road disappearing into the woods.

Lester steps out. The leashes pull. Cocky bounds forward. I crawl after them, my hands finding the cold damp porch boards, my tits swinging with each movement, my bare ass in the air, my pussy exposed to the morning and the trees and whatever god watches girls like me.

The grass is wet. Cold drops cling to my palms. To my knees. To the curve of my hanging breasts as they brush the tall blades.

A man, a dog, and a naked girl. All on a morning walk.

The Morning Walk

The grass is alive under my palms. Wet and cold and bending under my weight. Each handful I crawl over releases a smell like cut green things and dirt and morning dew that I didn’t asked for. My tits swing beneath me with every forward motion, pendulum-heavy, the nipples dragging through the tallest blades. My bare back curves. My spine dips. My ass rises behind me, pale and round in the gray light, and between my spread thighs my pussy is open to the morning air like a flower that forgot to close for the season.

Cocky trots beside me. His leash swings loose. His paws pad the wet grass with the easy, bouncy confidence of an animal who does this every day and loves every second of it. His tongue hangs. His ears are up. Happy dog on a happy walk.

I am not a happy dog.

I am a naked eighteen-year-old girl crawling on all fours through wet grass with a leather collar around my neck and a leash connecting me to the hand of a man who throat-raped me six hours ago. My 32Ds hang and sway. My ass is in the air. My pussy is on full display for the trees and the sky and whatever squirrels are up this early. The dew soaks my palms and my legs and collects in cold drops on my stomach and the undersides of my breasts.

From down here, on my hands and knees, I can see Lester’s boots. Brown leather. Thick soles. They crunch the grass in a slow, easy rhythm. A man on a morning stroll. His left hand holds both leashes. His right hand swings at his side. He’s whistling. Something tuneless and happy. A man walking his pets.

‘His pets. That’s you, Luna. You’re the other pet. The one without fur.’

Two Leashes, One Hand

I watch his boots and Cocky’s paws and my own bare hands, all moving across the same grass, and I try to see this from the outside. A satellite view. A drone shot. A dressed old man in flannel and warm pants and running shoes, holding two leather leashes.

One leash connects to a big German Shepherd trotting on his right.

The other connects to a nude young woman crawling on his left. Her breasts swing free. Her blonde hair hangs in her face. Her round bare ass catches the gray morning light. The collar on her neck matches the collar on the dog.

‘How did I get here. Two days ago I was getting dressed for my shift at the diner. Picking between the blue T-shirt and the gray one. Putting on jeans. Lacing my sneakers. Checking my reflection in the little mirror above the dresser in my boarding house room. I had clothes. I had a body that belonged to me. I had a door that locked from the inside.’

I don’t have any of those things anymore.

I have a collar. A leash. Wet grass on my bare skin. And the question I keep asking myself with every forward crawl: how much longer? How many more hours. How many more days. How many more dressed men looking at my naked body before someone hands me a shirt.

‘Five men. Five rapists. All of them clothed. All of them comfortable. And me. The nude one. The one who cooks and cleans and sucks cock and crawls through grass on a leash next to a German Shepherd. The CMNF girl. The one from the videos I used to scroll past.’

Cocky’s Favorite Smell

Cocky disappears from my peripheral vision. One second he’s trotting beside me, the next his leash crosses behind Lester’s legs and I hear his paws in the grass behind me. Then I feel it.

His cold wet nose. Pressed against my pussy. Right there. Between my thighs. From behind. A big dog snout pushing into my vulva like he’s trying to unlock a door with his face.

I lurch forward. My hips drop and twist. I try to swing my ass to the side, away from his snout, but the leash pulls tight against my collar and Lester’s grip holds me in place and Cocky’s nose follows my cunt like a heat-seeking missile.

His breath is hot on my lips. His nose is ice-cold. The contrast makes my whole body flinch. I crawl faster, trying to put distance between my pussy and his snout, but he’s a dog and I’m a naked girl on my hands and knees and he is faster than me in every way that matters.

Lester stops walking. The leashes go taut. I stop. Cocky’s nose pushes deeper. A loud, wet sniff right against my slit.

“Hey now.” Lester’s voice comes from above. He’s not talking to the dog. He’s talking to me. “Leave him be.”

I twist my head to look up at him. His face is backlit by the gray sky. That gap-toothed grin.

“Cocky’s lonely. Just like me.” He tugs my leash. A short, corrective jerk. “Only company I get out here. And now you’re company too. So let him enjoy it.”

‘An old man and his dog. Both lonely. Both wanting the same thing. A naked girl to sniff and touch and own. I’m the solution to a loneliness problem I didn’t cause. I’m the answer to a question nobody asked me.’

Cocky sniffs again. Long, deep inhales against my exposed pussy. His wet nose bumps my clit and I jolt. My elbows almost buckle. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold still because Lester told me to hold still and I am a pet who obeys.

‘This is your morning walk, Luna. This is what morning walks look like now. A dressed rapist and an eager dog and a naked girl whose pussy is the most interesting thing in the yard.’

The Lake

We circle the clearing. Lester takes his time. No rush. Why would there be a rush. He’s retired and his only plans for the day involve his two pets and whatever beer is left in the fridge and the body of a girl he chained to his ankle last night.

Through the trees, I catch a glimpse of the lake. The same flat dark water I swam across in the middle of the night. It looks different in the morning light. Smaller. Grayer. The far shore is a line of dark pines, and somewhere behind those pines is a cabin with four rapists who probably woke up to find their shed empty and their toy gone.

‘Are they looking for me. Are they in the boat right now. Are they searching the far shore for a nude muddy girl who crawled out of their lake like a horror movie creature.’

I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I don’t know where this lake is. I don’t know what town is nearby. I don’t know if there even is a town. All I know is pine trees and gravel roads and old men who treat my body like public property. ...