Chapter 117 Fetch and Fetters

This chapter is 100% NSFW content, and since it involves Kuro, it violates policy and has therefore been posted elsewhere.

If you wish to read it, please use the following link https://archiveofourown.org/works/66075871/chapters/184419241

Here is a real shitty rewrite attempt, if you really want to read it, but can’t handle the real stuff.

Chapter 117 (Rewrite)

Whenever I had more than a day with Koji, the routine found us. If time was short, he took me hard and fast until my legs shook. But with time to play? Then the collar came out, the leash clicked home, and every little ritual he loved unfolded in slow, wicked detail.

“So, Yuki—dinner?” he said, casual as anything, even while I knelt between his thighs. “I’m not cooking. You’re not cooking. Soldier pill is a sin if we can still chew real meat.”

I hummed against him, swaying my hips so the tail inside me flicked like it had thoughts of its own. “Yakiniku Q, Alpha. They know us, and the private booths are worth the money.”

He laughed and tapped his cock against my cheek. “Hungry for meat, huh?”

“You can smell it,” I murmured, and took him in hand.

I worshipped him lazily at first, letting my tongue trace the seam where his shaft met his body, tasting salt and heat and the very specific musk that was Koji. I rolled one heavy ball into my mouth, then the other, nursed them both until his breath hitched and his fingers buried in my hair. He tried to keep talking plans; I tried to wreck his plans with my mouth.

“Damn, bitch,” he groaned, hips shifting, dragging his length across my face as his pre slicked my skin. “I can’t focus when you do that.”

The room filled with the wet, greedy sounds of me, and when I finally let his balls slip free with a soft pop, he snarled in frustration—wanting more and calling a halt anyway.

“Enough—for now,” he said, though his voice was anything but convinced. “Kuro says it’s been an hour.”

From the corner, Kuro gave a single precise bark. He was sprawled like a shaggy statue—ears pricked, gaze cool. Witness. Nothing more.

I pressed a kiss to each of Koji’s balls like a vow and sat back on my heels; the tail plug shifted inside me and the involuntary moan it dragged out was not small. Koji’s answering grin was all fangs.

“Yakiniku Q in three hours,” he said, eyes raking over me. “That leaves two to play and one to walk there like the pretty little collar pet you are.”

I nodded, throat dry. “Yes, Alpha.”

…

Koji took us into the Inuzuka compound’s small, fenced training grove—a place Tsume had grudgingly ceded to him years ago with an eye roll and a smirk. The ground was soft with needles; filtered sunlight turned dust into gold. He clipped my leash to a low post and palmed my jaw, forcing my eyes up to his.

“Stay,” he said. The word dug straight into my spine.

Kuro circled once, close enough that I could feel the faint push of air from his tail, and then settled a few paces off: upright, attentive, silent.

Koji disappeared with a purposeful stride and returned a minute later with a handful of simple props—nothing that looked like much on its own: a length of cord, a stick, a clean steel water bowl with my name etched on the side, a small towel. And that look in his eye.

He unclipped the leash from the post and let it dangle from my collar. “Warm-up,” he said, and lofted the stick. “Fetch.”

I crawled after it on all fours, palms and knees sure on the earth. When I bit down on the wood and turned with it in my teeth, Koji’s mouth tilted, pleased and cruel and tender all at once. The tail inside me swayed when I breathed; the movement sent tiny sparks through my core. I delivered the stick to his boots and wagged my hips—deliberate, humiliating, sweet.

“Good girl.” He stroked my hair like I was exactly what the collar said I was. He threw the stick farther. I chased it again. And again.

People drifted in—adult clanmates on their way to nowhere in particular, drawn by the sound of Koji’s voice and the spectacle of Hyūga Yuki on hands and knees with a leash ringing at her throat. They didn’t touch me. They didn’t speak to me. They leaned against trunks and watched, trading low, sharp comments like shuriken.

“Koji’s got her heeling pretty,” someone observed.

“Timing’s clean,” another said. “Look how she matches his gait.”

Heat licked my cheeks. The humiliation was part of it, and Koji knew exactly how much to give me and when. He ruffled my hair when I returned the stick the fifth time, and the warm shame that sparked at the base of my skull rolled like thunder into my belly.

“Thirsty?” he asked, eyes bright with mischief.

“Yes, Alpha.” My voice came out slick with need.

He set the steel bowl down, poured fresh water from a canteen, and crooked a finger. The engraving caught the light—YUKI, sharp as a brand. I lowered my head and lapped from it on my knees, ass high, tail plume quivering every time I swallowed.

Kuro padded over, sniffed the rim, and sat beside me—guarding, approving, never touching. The watching adults chuckled under their breath. I pretended I didn’t hear them and drank until Koji’s hand found the back of my neck.

“Break’s over,” he said softly.

What followed was a parade of commands, quick and crisp. “Sit.” I folded neatly, back straight, eyes up. “Down.” I went to elbows, cheek on my wrists, tail twitching obscenely. “Roll.” Pine needles kissed my ribs as I showed them everything. “Beg.” I lifted my hands, wrists crossed like cuffs beneath my chin, tongue peeking, eyes wide—obedience made cute, which Koji liked even more than cruelty.

“Play dead,” he murmured at last.

I went still on my back—throat exposed, collar tag cold against my sternum—breathing shallow while a semicircle of Inuzuka pretended not to stare. Koji prowled around me in a slow orbit, shadow cutting across my skin, boot toe tracing the line of my calf without touching.

Kuro matched him from behind the ring of trees, steps soft, gaze hard. Alpha and ninken, tight as any two beings could be…and I, at their center, nothing but breath and pulse and submission.

When Koji knelt, the world contracted to his hand on my jaw.

“You’re doing so well,” he said. It wasn’t loud, but everyone heard it. “Heel.”

He rose and walked. I crawled at his left knee, head turned up, leash draped from my collar into his palm. The tag jingled with each pace. The tail plug pulsed a relentless little heartbeat inside me. Every humiliating detail felt sharpened to a burning point.

We circled the grove that way longer than my pride liked to admit. When my elbows trembled, I knew he’d noticed, because his hand slid from the leash to my nape and pressed—just enough to make my breath catch, just enough to make a small sound escape, which earned him the low, wicked chuckle he wanted.

“Good girl,” he said again, and I almost cried with how much I needed the words.

Finally, he led me back to the post and clipped me in—not because he needed to, but because he liked the picture of it. He spread the towel beneath my knees, tugged the leash so our eyes met, and tipped his head toward the bowl.

“Hydrate,” he said, voice gone velvet and electric. Then, lower: “And then you’re going to mark that tree.”

Heat tore through me. I could feel the collective breath around us pause, then steady. Adult eyes; adult rules. This was the line Koji walked so well: public, but private enough; humiliating, but mine.

“Yes, Alpha,” I whispered.

He set the bowl aside when I finished and guided me by the leash to a smooth-barked trunk in the center of the clearing. He didn’t force my leg up; he didn’t even touch me. He just stood close enough that his body heat bracketed mine and said, “Now.”

I blushed so hard it hurt…and did it. The air kissed my clit, and a ripple ran up my spine. The sound on the leaves was indecently loud in the hush. I kept my chin high because Koji liked the defiance in it, the way shame sat on me and I carried it anyway.

“Beautiful,” he said, and palmed my hip, possessive as a stamp.

From the sideline, a few appreciative whistles—nothing cruel, just that ragged Inuzuka humor that treated everything as a training exercise you either nailed or learned from. Kuro’s ears flicked; he huffed once like a judge with a favorable scorecard.

Koji tugged the leash, and I let my leg down, pulse rioting. He brought me back to the towel and wiped my thighs with a tenderness that didn’t fit on his face, then snapped his fingers twice.

“Show’s over,” he told the gathered adults, easy as a captain dismissing a squad. “We’ve got dinner.”

They peeled away in ones and twos, some grinning, some shaking their heads, none daring to put a hand on me now that the leash had shortened and Koji’s eyes had gone a darker shade of dangerous. When the grove emptied, Kuro rose and padded to the exit, pausing to look back at us with a small tilt of his head that said ready.

Koji clipped the leash short, three fingers’ worth of slack at my throat, and walked me the long way home—past the outer path where wind carried our scent, where anyone with a nose could tell exactly what we’d been doing. He didn’t hurry. He wanted to be seen, and I…well, I wanted to be seen being his.

Every step, the tail inside me swayed; every sway, I leaked onto my thighs; every leak, Koji’s nostrils flared. He didn’t speak until the compound gate came into view.

“Dinner,” he said, hunger curling in his smile. “Then we finish what I started.”

“Yes, Alpha,” I breathed.

Kuro loped ahead to clear the way, silent and sure—the pack’s eyes and ears. Koji’s hand stayed warm and inexorable at the base of my skull, steering me with the lightest pressure, and I crawled where he pulled, the collar tag chiming our progress like a bell.

We passed two clanmates on patrol. They glanced once, took in the leash and the look on Koji’s face, and pretended they had someplace urgent to be. Koji chuckled under his breath, the sound rumbling through his chest like thunder.

“Good girl,” he said again, just for me.

The words went through me like a command seal. I lifted my chin, let the humiliation settle into something molten and bright, and followed my Alpha home.