GOOD DOG

The politely timid knock on the door to Dr. Lisa Cuddy's office that afternoon comes from none other than Edward Vogler's personal assistant, a pretty, young female slave with whom Cuddy has never been formally introduced. She waits just beyond the door until Cuddy bids her enter, strides to just beyond the desk, dips her head and delivers the correspondence from her master.

In the slave's presence, Cuddy feels sharps spikes of what should be absurd jealousy. The slave maintains a neat and prim appearance despite her station, always impeccably groomed and well dressed. She wears elegantly tailored business sets of pressed jackets, skirts that rise to just above her knee, and rather stylish heels, all furnished by her master. Her hair is kept brushed back and swept up in an elegant bun, exposing her collar at all times. Unlike other slaves who bear only one collar, her master has provided his treasured slave with many collars to coordinate with her daily clothes. Today, for example, the collar is a tall, severe looking posture collar crafted from a buttery rich, black leather with a single wide ring bearing Volger's silver tag, which goes quite nicely with the smart, grey pinstripes. She remains silent unless directly addressed by a free man or woman - her betters - keeping her head bowed subserviently. She behaves demurely and respectfully. Volger's PA is the model slave, unlike some slaves Cuddy could name, and it is downright embarrassing to be forced to admit such ugly truths.

Cuddy forces down the ridiculous envy, dismisses the slave, and opens the letter, which turns out to be little more than a one sentence memo typed upon the hospital's quite bland interoffice letterhead requesting her presence. No. He demands her presence at a meeting scheduled for that very night, at 8:00 pm, sharp. It is unusual, yes, but not unheard of for a high ranking member of the board to schedule appointments so late in the evening, often when it is of import and when other, more pressing engagements prevent an earlier meeting.

Cuddy sits and scowls at the letter. Cuddy herself has often scheduled several of these appointments herself. As Dean of Medicine, it is her right, much as it is Vogler's right as Chairman of the Board to call upon her in the evening, after general business hours. Cuddy has only ever scheduled after-hours meetings in regards to matters which could not wait, such as emergency ethics consultation for patients in critical conditions or matters of severe misconduct after smoothing things over with the complaining party. More often than not, any late-night meetings held by Cuddy have been over none other than Greg, as he seems to hold no other hobbies aside from irritating her.

The woman takes considerable time through the remainder of her day to scrutinize her actions of late. As a physician, Cuddy does not practice medicine as much as she should like. She primarily treats patients during her own rotation of clinic hours, but those that Cuddy has seen within the last several months have all seemed quite satisfied with her. As Dean of Medicine, she has helped cultivate and maintain PPTH's stellar reputation for both patient care and teaching. Aside from Greg's frequent disciplinary measures, there is little which can be questioned of her actions. This simple fact should offer Cuddy comfort, yet she worries for the rest of the day.

It is somewhat fortunate then that Greg offers a welcome distraction from the impending meeting with Vogler. Sometime during his clinic shift, Greg has enraged a patient, and the complaint reaches Cuddy in the late afternoon. As it turns out, a young woman presenting with "troubles down there" according to the symptoms noted upon arrival at the clinic took offense when Greg's collar had been accidentally exposed during a routine gynecological examination. There had been nothing out of the ordinary about the examination, and Greg had followed protocol in having a female nurse stay in the room when a female doctor could not be found to perform the exam. The patient had been outraged when she saw the collar.

The patient had, according to the nurse, screamed, "You just wanted to feel me up, you sick freak! What kind of a hospital lets slaves touch women… there?"

At that point, Greg had pointed out, "If I wasn't a slave, do you think I'd willingly touch genitals festering with what appears to be open herpes sores?"

Security had heard the commotion and barged in. This had only served to enrage the patient – who still had her legs held aloft in stirrups, her legs spread wide. She had shrieked at the top of her lungs until the guards regroup and dragged Greg forcibly from the exam room and down to the cells beneath the hospital. One of the guards had waited for the woman to dress and escorted her promptly to Dr. Cuddy's office.

Upon arriving at Cuddy's office, the patient screams at the dean for nearly an hour as both Cuddy and a representative from the legal department listen politely. Eventually, the hysterics die down enough for the three to speak rationally over the situation and reparations. The woman demands ridiculous monetary compensation. When Cuddy rather diplomatically points out that the woman is still in need of medical treatment for her symptoms, the conversation slowly turns towards more reasonable settlement. It takes two hours before they reach an agreement which satisfies both the patient and the legal department.

By the time the woman leaves, Cuddy realizes the hospital is already quiet. She glances at the clock and notices that it is 7:30, just outside of visiting hours. The hospital is settling down for the night, but she still has her meeting with Vogler. She straightens herself up, adjusts her hair and makeup and goes to Vogler's office at precisely 7:57pm.

Outside, of Vogler's office, a different slave acting as secretary greets the dean with a bow of her head before dialing a number on the intercom. Like Vogler's personal assistant, this slave is another pretty young lady, equally well dressed and groomed. This slave also bears Vogler's tag upon her wide, silver collar. Cuddy wonders momentarily how many slaves are in Vogler's possession and how he has managed to be so lucky to have such excellent slaves.

The slave bows her head once more to Cuddy and whispers, "Mr. Vogler will see you now."

Cuddy opens the door to the office and slips inside. The office is quite spacious, not unlike hers. The walls are lined by shelves all burdened by books and personal items such as photographs, statues, and awards. A young man barely out of his teens stands naked at the shelves polishing them; when he turns, Cuddy spies the boy's collar and hoped piercings through his nipples and the head of his cock. His collar also bears a tag, but Cuddy cannot read the name upon it from this distance. The boy does not acknowledge Cuddy's presence, but it is somehow respectful and not rude as though he ignores her.

The dean turns her attention back to the matter at hand and glances to the large, mahogany desk which dominates the center of the office, yet Vogler is not there.

"Ah, good evening, Dr. Cuddy," his voice purrs at her from the side, jolting her attention. Cuddy jumps at the sudden sound, turns to her side and gasps, but Vogler merely chortles. "I'm sorry if I startled you."

Cuddy wants to say that he did not startle her, but she cannot find the words. Two large, wide-backed leather chairs are in the corner, and one of those chairs is occupied by a rather comfortable and pleased looking Vogler with his feet propped up on the back of his personal assistant as he sits, sipping a scotch. He looks relaxed, perfectly at ease, while the slave sweats and strains beneath him.

Upon seeing the female slave, Cuddy understands now how Vogler achieves such perfection. The slave is also nude, save for a severe looking gag stuffed in her mouth, a rather utilitarian, leather collar about her neck and sturdy manacles about her wrists and ankles. Cuddy has never seen Vogler's PA undressed before, and, therefore, the gleaming, delicate steel rings through each of her pert nipples and beneath her legs come as quite a surprise. From each of these rings, a fine chain runs down to a central ring firmly embedded in the floor beneath her. Other chains are attached to her manacles, looping through rings beside each of her limbs before coming together at that central ring and padlocked together. The slave cannot move, cannot go anywhere. Beneath the slave, someone has strategically positioned several candles. Should she sag too low, her belly and breasts will be burnt by the flames. Should she move to either side, the chains will be heated by the flame, conducting that heat to her nipples and clit. Should she rise too high, the rings will pull painfully against delicate parts. It is a predicament in which only perfect posture and behavior will keep the slave from hurting herself accidentally, yet this slave seems to have mastered the correct balance.

"Would you care to have a seat?" Vogler offers, gesturing to the chair at his side.

Cuddy swallows, her mouth suddenly quite dry, but she forces herself to nod and say, "Of course."

Cuddy carries herself as aloof as possible to the other chair, pointedly ignoring the five rings before the other chair and stepping about the slave so as to not jostle or bump the poor creature. Her eyes go slightly wide as she passes the slave's hindquarters to notice that the slave is stuffed with plugs in both her orifices. Cuddy cannot be certain, but, judging from the flanged handles, they both seem quite large.

She sits, gingerly beside Vogler, crossing her legs demurely and resting her hands in her lap. She plasters a serene and sincere smile on her face and meets Vogler's gaze, avoiding looking anywhere in the slave's general direction. Cuddy can say nothing. The slave is bound harshly and with sexual usage, yes, but that is Vogler's right as her master.

"Would you care for a drink? Perhaps a scotch?" Cuddy nods politely, and Vogler snaps his fingers at the male slave, ordering, "A drink for the lady."

The young man moves swiftly and efficiently, expertly doling out ice into a glass and pouring a carefully measured amount for Cuddy. He kneels before her chair and presents Cuddy with her drink with a bow of his head. The tag upon his collar flashes in the light of the office. The name upon it reads 'EDWARD VOGLER' followed by his registry information. These slaves are all bound to Vogler and tagged by him. No other hand may touch these slaves, but Cuddy somehow knows that it comes as small comfort.

Cuddy sips at the scotch, just enough to wet her lips, before asking smoothly, "I had gathered from the nature of your memo that this was more than a social call, tonight."

"It is," Vogler replies with a dip of his head.

"Then, what would you care to discuss?" she asks, trying to propel the conversation forward as swiftly as possible so she can get out of his office and attempt to scrub her mind clean of the sight of those slaves.

When Vogler speaks, it is in a deep croon, almost smug. "You know, owning a slave is a lot like… well… owning a puppy."

Cuddy furrows her brow. Owning a slave is nothing like owning a puppy. Cuddy, as a matter of fact, owns one slave of her own, yet she manages the entire slave pool at the hospital, Greg included. She, of all people, should know.

However, Vogler goes on, "You get licensed, have it registered, take it for regular check ups, make sure it has appropriate food, water, shelter, and medical care."

Again, Cuddy knows all this. In order for a free man or woman to own a slave, they must first attain a permit to do so, rather like owning a car. They must prove that they are capable of keeping a slave, both by providing for the needs of the slave and the safety of the public about them. The slave must also be registered upon purchase, rather like a car. In earlier years, the local registry would tattoo or brand new slaves, but, nowadays, that has fallen out of popular practice in favor of the much more humane RFID tag system. All slaves are required, regardless of use or occupation to receive one yearly physical examination to prove that they are not being mistreated or neglected. In addition to all that, there are humane societies specifically set up for checking in on potentially neglectful or abusive owners (disciplinary action not withstanding, of course) which have the authority to remove slaves from dangerous situations providing they attain a seizure warrant. There is even a reality tv show not unlike ANIMAL COPS in the works to highlight those humanitarians who serve to protect slaves. Slaves are treated as both servants and household pets anymore.

"If there is any concern as to how the slave pool is treated at Princeton-Plainsboro, I assure you, we are in compliance with all federal and state regulations and certified to both keep and treat indentured humans," Cuddy states flatly.

Indentured humans. That is the official and politically correct term for slaves, sandwiched in the annuls of linguistics between little person and person of color.

Vogler gives a small laugh. "I believe your slaves are being treated well. Perhaps a little too well. For, just as a puppy requires discipline and training, so does a slave." Vogler's phone rings, "Ah, if you would permit me just one moment." Vogler lifts the phone from the cradle. "Yes? Send them in." He hangs up the phone and smiles benevolently at Cuddy. "My other guests have arrived."

Cuddy opens her mouth to say something, anything, but snaps her jaw shut when the door to the office opens and several security guards enter. They are dragging Greg with them. He is shackled and gagged with what appears the same cruel gag as the slave kneeling before Vogler. Greg's blue eyes are wide with what might be fear or rage, and his body trembles visibly.

"Ah, Gregory, good of you to join us," Vogler teases before nodding to the guards. "Strip him down please."

Cuddy watches, horrorstruck as the guards uncuff Greg and begin to tear the clothes from his body, but Vogler continues without missing a beat. "Now, as I was saying, owning a slave is like owning a puppy. And, just like a puppy, a slave needs proper discipline and training."

"Mr. Vogler, I assure you, Greg is dealt appropriate disciplinary measures when his behavior merits," Cuddy breathes, her blood turning abruptly cold at the thoughts of what Vogler might do to Greg.

"I have seen your disciplinary records," Vogler admits with a sigh, producing Greg's file from nowhere. "Repeated multiple whippings." The Chairman flips through the file with an appreciative whistle. "Just last week, you had him lashed."

"In keeping with the disciplinary code of this hospital," Cuddy promises the man.

Vogler nods and sets the file aside. "Of course." He levels a stern gaze upon her. "Did you know that you have issued over five hundred lashes to Gregory alone during your tenure?" When Cuddy holds her tongue, Vogler laughs once more, "Sure you have noticed how completely ineffective whipping is for a slave like Greogory?"

Cuddy draws a deep breath, attempting to calculate what precisely to say before admitting heavily, "It may have come to my attention, yet whipping is the most severe punishment offered by the hospital's disciplinary policy."

"But even you admit that simply whipping Gregory is not working. I understand that he is being held until a disciplinary hearing tomorrow for an infraction during afternoon clinic hours," the man announces. He looks up and notices that the guards have stripped Greg down to his bare skin and gestures with a flick of his hand. "If you would."

The guards sneer as they begin to force Greg down to the ground.

"This isn't necessary," Cuddy hisses through her teeth.

"I assure you, it is," Vogler snaps. "Physical violence does not work for slaves like Gregory. You need to entertain alternative options to keep Gregory in line."

"I have." She glares at the chairman. "I've had him whipped, I've taken away his privileges, I've tried everything."

Vogler shakes his head. "Not everything. You have made the cardinal mistake of ownership of either a dog or a slave by allowing Gregory here to be the dominant one in your relationship. You must reestablish yourself as the dominant. If you would permit me?"

Cuddy bites her tongue to consider the situation, but Vogler is right. She steels herself and gives a restrained nod of permission. She hates this, hates everything about this as Greg is shoved down to his knees with a grunt even through the gag. Yet, for as much as Cuddy loathes this, she wants it. She wants a Greg that behaves as perfectly as Vogler's slaves, as she cannot argue with results like his.

"Bind him," Vogler orders.

The guards shackle Greg's wrists and ankles with the same sort of sturdy manacles as the female slave before Vogler. They secure thick chains to each of the shackles and loop them through the four rings at Cuddy's feet before locking the chains together at the central ring below Greg's navel. The position looks extremely painful for Greg, as his one leg is no longer capable of supporting his weight, forcing him to lean upon his other side. This leaves Greg positioned before Cuddy in mirror to Vogler's personal assistant. They test the bonds to make sure there is little give and step back from the restrained slave who is currently moaning in agony.

Vogler nods at the guards. "Thank you, but that will be all for right now."

Cuddy raises a brow but watches in silence as the security team files out of the office and shuts the door behind them. Vogler gestures to his male slave, and the young man fetches a tray of tools. When the nameless male kneels once more before Cuddy and presents her with the tray, she nearly wretches. There are three chains spread upon the tray, each with a fastener on one end and a toothy clamp on the other.

Sickened, Cuddy turns to Vogler who merely gives a rather nonplused shrug. "As the slave pool is under your jurisdiction, I could not have Gregory here properly… altered and attired without your approval."

"You…." Her stomach lurches wildly. "You want him… pierced?"

"That would be entirely your decision, but I think you'll agree that piercing is a better option in the long run." Vogler pauses to sip his scotch once more before rising. "Here. I can show you." Vogler crouches at Greg's far side and reaches beneath the man to pinch one of his nipples. "You have to ready them first." He takes one of the clamps from the tray. "Before putting a clamp on."

As soon as the clamp bites down on Greg's nipple, the slave yelps beneath the gag, jerking against the manacles but finding no give. He grunts and belts profanities through the gag, but Vogler succinctly silences him with a quick, harsh slap across Greg's flank. The strike raises a bit of flushed color on Greg's skin. The slave quakes, clamping his eyes shut, clearly in pain and terrified.

"Now, you."

Cuddy bites her lip and takes her spot at Greg's other side. She reaches down, hesitantly at first, before finding Greg's nipple. He is shaking under her touch, which sends her gut churning worse. This is wrong, very wrong. Yet, when Vogler nods at her encouragingly, Cuddy pinches Greg sharply between her thumb and forefinger before swiftly applying the clamp. He gives another pained sound, muffled by his gag.

Vogler takes the last clip in his hands and states, "I had better do this one." He holds the clip up and studies it with a warm smirk. "I have more… experience."

Cuddy nods numbly as Vogler reaches between Greg's pale legs and applies the clip to the head of his cock in the same, approximate area as the piercing on the male slave. Greg goes ballistic. He fights, struggling against the bonds and shouting the whole while. Vogler simply laughs and lets Greg twist and writhe against the agony. In time, Greg exhausts himself and slumps against his bonds, shivering and panting heavily.

"There, there," Vogler purrs, running his hands over Greg's back and fawning over the slave. "You cannot fight, Gregory, so don't."

With Greg so stilled, Vogler takes the opportunity to attach the three chains dangling from the clamps to the central ring beneath him. Greg hardly notices. He tries to fold himself up, tugging feebly against his restrains to hug himself against the pain. Yet, each time he gets in Vogler's way as the chairman sets candles beneath his stomach and chest, Vogler simply gives him a quick swat.

"Now, Dr. Cuddy, it you would…" he trails off once more, but Vogler holds his hand out towards one of the candles beneath his personal assistant. Cuddy lifts the candle and begins to hold it out to Vogler, but he shakes his head and insists, "It would be best if you do this."

Cuddy chews the inside of her cheek. Her muscles feel as though they have turned to jelly, making the candle seem impossibly heavy, yet she manages to force her arm to work. One at a time, Cuddy lights the candles beneath Greg's shaking body – five in all – before replacing her candle beneath Vogler's slave. She watches, in horror, as Greg begins to slowly sink towards the candles, dangerously close to them. When one of the flames licks at his stomach, Greg jerks up as far as possible until the clamps bite into him. He swears under the gag, but it renews Greg's fight. He twists and struggles once more, crying out whenever the clamps tear at his sensitive flesh. When Greg goes still, Vogler touches him, gently, and Greg jumps. He fights for some time, until tears glisten at his eyes and sweat beads upon his body, and Greg stills once more. Each time Greg stills, Vogler touches him, sending Greg bucking and squirming once more, until, finally, he kneels, shaking and moaning but otherwise motionless as Vogler pets him.

"Good, good," Vogler purrs, patting Greg on the head and tousling his hair. "See, Gregory can be a good puppy, too."

When Greg gives no further indication of fight left in him even after that, Vogler rises and takes Cuddy's hand to guide her to the chair at Greg's side. Cuddy falls into the chair, numb, but Vogler rather matter-of-factly takes his own seat and puts his feat back up on his personal assistant's back.

When he gestures for Cuddy to do the same, Cuddy grimaces. "Is that really necessary?"

"Of course it is," Vogler insists. "He is vulnerable now, a bit worn down and powerless. He needs reassurance that you are his master and that you will take care of his every need. From food and clothes to proper training. Reinforce that."

Cuddy nods. Greg looks up at her with wide, pleading eyes, but she does not bend or give. His begging galvanizes the need for this, for it is pity for Greg which has so often melted her enough to allow him to walk all over her. She slowly and methodically lifts her feet, one at a time, before gently placing them upon Greg's back. The slave dips slightly under the weight of her legs and, feeling the kiss of the flame, jumps up once more to the ends of the clamp chains. She sits back in the leather chair and savors the image of Greg kneeling before her, feeling a faint tickle of pride at the back of her head. This is what she has desired for so long but has been unable to grasp, a silent, well behaved Greg. While it sickens her to no end, it entrances her as well. As he continues to submit beneath her, struggling to hold him self in the proper position, Cuddy briefly entertains the notion of having Greg pierced to make this clearly effective technique more humane and feasible on a day-to-day basis as the need arises.

Cuddy waits for a moment before looking to Vogler and asking, "Is that enough punishment for one day?"

"Why, Dr. Cuddy, I thought you understood," Vogler says, clearly taken back.

"Understood what?"

"This is not punishment. This is correction." Vogler shakes his head and takes up his scotch once more. "He still has punishment coming to him tomorrow for his actions today."

Cuddy gives a nod and reaches down to rub Greg's back, whispering as she does, "Such a good puppy."

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Author's Notes : Yeah…. I don't usually write so explicitly, but I've been wanting to dabble in CollarRedux world for a while now.