Come, My Pet

by Keira Michelle Telford

“You needn’t be self-conscious.” She eases Pet’s hands away from the buttons and completes the work herself, pulling the shirt open. “I can make the hurt go away.” She bends, pressing kisses all the way down Pet’s sternum, gradually sinking to her knees.

  As the first time, Pet closes her eyes, relishing the warm tingling of Coralie’s magic.

  It’s over too soon.

  “See?” Coralie smiles up at her. “Flawless.” She runs her hand up between Pet’s perky breasts, careful not to stray, then snakes her fingertip back down. “So beautiful,” she murmurs softly, counting Pet’s ribs, feeling her taut stomach, finally coming to a stop at the waistband of her pants. “Now take these off.”

  Blushing with a fury, but unable to deny the request, Pet unbuckles her belt, tugs down her zipper, and breathes an audible sigh of relief when her engorged priapus springs free.

  “Oh, gods!” Coralie gawps at it, her cunt pulsing involuntarily. “You’re magnificent!” Still on her knees, she leans forward for a closer examination.

  Pet’s blush intensifies. Not only is Coralie’s face mere inches away from her throbbing erection, but she’s a Mistress, and Mistresses don’t kneel for anybody. Ever.

  Though she tries to prevent it, a drop of milky anticipation oozes from the swollen head of her eager appendage, clinging there like dew on a petal. Worsening her condition, she watches with horror as Coralie opens her mouth and extends her tongue, ever so carefully touching the tip to the droplet, never letting skin touch skin.

  “Mmm.” She draws it into her mouth, her passions inflamed by the thought of the life it can create. “So potent.”

  Much to Pet’s relief, she then gets back on her feet and clambers into bed, putting some distance between them. The respite is only brief, however, as she pats the mattress, inviting Pet to join her. Naked, of course.

  Enticed as much by the big comfy bed as she is by Coralie’s exquisite body, Pet sheds the rest of her clothes, wills her anatomy to behave, and prepares to flop into the sheets … but then she spots a small bottle of liquid on the bedside table.

  It’s prussic acid.

  Cyanide.

  At that moment, a revelation hits and she feels foolishly naïve. First, there was the thunk she’d heard when Coralie’s robe hit the hallway floor following her late night trip to the kitchens. Then, there was Mistress Isabelle’s sudden death at the dinner table.

  It was the wine.

  Poisoned wine.

  “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.” Coralie winks, seeing the cogs whir in Pet’s mind.

  She’s on her knees again, her arms outstretched, waiting for Pet to crawl forward on the bed and meet her in the middle.

  “Someday, I plan to sit at the head of the High Council,” she announces, placing her hands on Pet’s waist, pulling her tight. “And I shall have you by my side, always and forever.”

  Pet reciprocates the hug, wrapping her arms around Coralie for the first time, relishing the contact until her priapus disgraces itself by slipping under Coralie’s negligee and finding its way to her unprotected sex, nestling between her labia.

  Coralie groans.

  Pet gasps and recoils.

  “Don’t panic.” Coralie peers down between them, the head of Pet’s disobedient piercer now smeared with her juices. “It was an accident. I doubt they’d strip your collar and expel us from the coven for an unintentional slippage.” She pecks Pet on the nose and lies down. “Now get under the covers before you explode!”

  Bashful, and not at all sure how to keep her arousal under control, Pet gets into bed and tucks herself up with her back to Coralie. This situation is alien to her in a number of ways, not least of all because she’s never known what it’s like to have someone want to be close to her purely for her company, rather than to be used for breeding.

  She and Mistress Isabelle didn’t spend a single night together until after their bonding—which itself was the result of magic, with not an ounce of true feeling behind it—and even then, she was often booted out of bed when her Mistress was done with her. She’s never before felt tenderness without agenda, or affection for affection’s sake, and she tenses when Coralie starts tracing patterns on her bare back.

  “Did Mistress Isabelle whip you?” Coralie asks, running a fingertip over one of many angry red lashes, this one extending from the small of Pet’s back to her right shoulder blade.

  Pet bobs her head twice for yes.

  “Did you like it?” Coralie doesn’t want to presume.

  She’s been with enough playmates to know that, for some, a little bit of pain and punishment adds to the flavor of sex, but it’s by no means a pre-requisite of the collar. Unlike many of the other Mistresses, she doesn’t view the infliction of pain as an expression of dominance. It’s an aphrodisiac for some, but clearly not for Pet. The bed jiggles as she answers in the resoundingly negative and curls herself into a ball.

  “Then it’ll never happen again,” Coralie assures her, laying kisses all over her back, healing the broken skin.

  By the time she’s done, the whole of Pet’s back is tingling and warm, and Pet relaxes again, the tension in her muscles dissipating.

  “There.” Coralie sits up, happy with the results of her ministrations. “All better.”

  Unable to vocalize her thanks, Pet rolls onto her back and flashes Coralie a meek smile, keeping the covers pulled up to her chin, still overly concerned about her nudity.

  “Look at you.” Coralie sweeps hair out of Pet’s eyes. “I think we need to trim your bangs. Or perhaps let them grow out.” She tucks the tousled chunks of hair behind Pet’s ear. “Whichever you’d prefer.”

  Bursting with happiness and gratitude for Coralie’s good nature—such a relief from her former Mistress—Pet captures Coralie’s hand and lavishes kisses on her palm. Her personal preference has never been taken into account for anything.

  “If only I could kiss that mouth.” Coralie sighs longingly, letting Pet kiss each of her fingers in turn before sucking gingerly on her thumb.

  “I can’t wait to hear your voice.” Coralie keeps talking, as much to make Pet feel at ease as to distract her mind from the wetness between her thighs. “I already love your laugh, your giggle, and the little whimper you make when you come.”

  Pet’s cheeks burn, but she resists the urge to hide.

  “Did Mistress Isabelle let you speak much?” Coralie wonders, a companion’s words reserved only for her bonded Mistress.

  Instantly, all trace of a smile vanishes from Pet’s face, sadness returning.

  “Ever?” Coralie probes deeper.

  Pet shakes her head.

  “Well, I shall want to hear you talk.” Coralie turns onto her back, going on to tell Pet how she likes to be vocal in bed, enjoys being given compliments—just like any woman—and how she wants Pet to know that her thoughts and feelings are valid. Unbeknownst to her, as she lazes there, the duvet drifts down below her bust.

  Pet, her erection still raging, stares at the outline of Coralie’s breasts behind the tight-fitting pink lace, her stiff nipples jutting out behind the gossamer fabric. After a few minutes of this, she rolls over and stares at the canopy above them, the duvet gripped tightly in her hands, her brow puckered with concentration.

  Coralie stops mid-sentence. “What’s wrong?” She shuffles closer to her mate. “Does it not please you to be in bed with me?”

  Pet whines, wanting desperately to communicate the nature of her problem. In lieu of being able to use words, she lifts the covers an inch, gesturing to what lurks beneath.

  Intent on breaking her of such chronic shyness, Coralie grabs a handful of the duvet and tugs it all the way down, revealing her achingly stiff erection lying on her stomach, leaking copiously into her belly button, a string of tiny white pearls gliding down the shaft.

  “Oh!” Coralie beams, excited by the prospect of giving Pet another orgasm. “You really are the most perfect creature I’ve ever seen. Do you need to come, darling?”<
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  Pet whines again, nodding vigorously.

  “Then why don’t you stroke it for me?” Coralie tickles her fingers along Pet’s midriff. “Please.”

  Pet adopts a questioning look.

  “Do it.” Coralie cuddles up to her. “As much as I want to, I can’t do it for you, and Mistress Isabelle is dead.” She cradles Pet’s neck in the crook of her arm. “There’s nothing preventing you from enjoying yourself in this way. Not anymore.”

  Self-conscious, but willing to give it her best shot, Pet gathers up the thick webs of mucilaginous fluid clinging to the tip of her priapus and lubricates the shaft, tentatively wrapping her fist around it. She starts with one quick pull, testing it out, but soon falters. Before she gives up altogether, Coralie pounces on the opportunity to bolster her confidence.

  “Like this.” She closes her hand around Pet’s, showing her how to move. “Does that feel good?” She pumps their hands up and down at a rapid pace, squeezing the crown at intervals, causing Pet’s turgid augmentation to ooze a constant stream of pearly excitement.

  Throughout, she whispers in Pet’s ear, telling her—in deliciously graphic detail—all that they’ll be able to do with one another once they’re bonded, her erotic promises ending with a softly spoken command.

  “Come for me, Pet.”

  Right on cue, Pet emits a muted squeak, her hips flexing involuntarily as a torrent of hot milt spurts from her priapus and puddles on her belly.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Coralie and Pet wake in each other’s arms, clean sheets and clean bodies. They’re naked, breast to breast, Pet’s small body curled into Coralie’s secure embrace.

  “Good morning, Pet.” Coralie smiles down at her.

  Pet returns the smile, but jerks away when she realizes she’s woken with a stiffening and that it’s pressed between Coralie’s legs. Terrified by her unintentional recklessness, she leaps out of bed, grimacing apologetically.

  “Don’t worry, my love.” Coralie stretches and yawns. “I’m not complaining. It was a nice way to wake up.” She arches her back, displaying her breasts. “In fact, there’s only one way it could’ve been better.” She throws the duvet off her nude body. “Will you give me pleasure?”

  Both of Pet’s eyebrows go up, having not a clue what that might entail.

  “My arousal might not be quite as obvious as yours, but I’m no less a slave to it.” Coralie spreads her legs. “Lying next to you excites me like you wouldn’t believe.” She grabs her own breasts, squeezing them and teasing her nipples. “Pet, will you tend to me?”

  Pet’s priapus noticeably swells, but she stays put, guilt washing over her. Last night, Coralie had seen to her comfort. When it was over, they’d showered and changed the bed sheets, then she’d fallen asleep in Coralie’s arms. She hadn’t thought to return the favor—didn’t know how she could—and Coralie hadn’t asked … hadn’t given any instruction.

  Sensing that Pet needs a gentle push, Coralie rephrases herself, wording her request in such a way that Pet can’t possibly deny her. “Darling, I want you to make me come.”

  Crawling back onto the bed, Pet looks up and down Coralie’s body, wishing she could touch. Exasperated by her helplessness, she reaches for Coralie’s hand, places it upon the seat of her lust, and manipulates her digits, pushing two fingers between her plump labia and hoping that will suffice. But it doesn’t.

  “No.” Coralie withdraws, shaking her head when she realizes what Pet intends for them to do.”I don’t want to touch myself this time.” She trails her hands along her inner thighs. “I want you to kiss me.” She scrapes her fingernails across her skin. “Right here, like you did at dinner. But this time, I won’t tell you to stop.”

  Caving to her own desire as much as to Coralie’s will, Pet repositions. She gets as close as she dares to Coralie’s sex—which is close enough that her hot breath tickles her Mistress’s weeping flesh, making her squirm—and blows directly on her clit.

  “Mmm, careful.” Coralie cups a hand over her core, hiding it from view. “Be so careful.”

  Doing precisely as she’s told, Pet lays kisses all over her thighs.

  Kissing.

  Stroking.

  Biting.

  “Oh, gods, yes!” Coralie throws her head back. “Bite me harder.”

  Growling, Pet scrapes her teeth over Coralie’s skin, marking her with passion.

  “My Pet …” Coralie begins to shake. “I’m so close.”

  Pet clamps her hand over Coralie’s—the one protecting her treasure—and presses lightly, pushing Coralie’s palm against her clit until she cries out, her entire body racked with spasms.

  As the tremors ebb away, Pet raises up and cocks her head, wondering if Coralie enjoyed it. Which she did.

  Breathless, Coralie beckons for Pet to lie on top of her. “That was perfect.” She hooks a finger through the ring on Pet’s collar, pulling her close. “So perfect.”

  On her hands and knees, keeping her body raised above Coralie’s, Pet edges forward. As she does, Coralie spies her erection between them.

  “We know what to do with that now, don’t we?”

  To make sure she doesn’t accidentally poke Coralie in a forbidden place, Pet lowers herself down, pinning her priapus between their bellies. When she leans in for a nose rub, it squishes between them, causing the most delightful friction, and an idea blossoms. She rocks her hips forward, testing the sensation, then looks to Coralie for permission to continue.

  “I don’t see why not.” Coralie glides her hands down Pet’s bare back. “If it feels good, let it feel good.” She grips Pet’s firm rump and directs her thrusts, encouraging her to settle into a gentle rhythm.

  It’s almost like sex.

  Almost.

  Relaxing into it, Pet curls her arm under Coralie’s neck, bringing them closer. Her weight supported on her elbow, she runs her free hand over Coralie’s waist and hip, breaking eye contact only to peek down at her Mistress’s unrestrained breasts, watching them jiggle with the motion of their bodies.

  In short order, her priapus starts to leak. Coralie’s soft belly becomes slippery and wet, their movements becoming sloppy and frantic until Coralie can’t take it anymore. She whispers the magic words—“Come for me, Pet”—and not a second later, a splash of warmth coats her chest.

  Following another shower, Coralie and Pet arrive late for breakfast, both entering the drawing room wearing smiles of sexual satisfaction—much to the consternation of Mistress Diana. The aging coven leader knows full well that if any rules had been broken, so too would the spell cast upon Pet when she was first initiated into the coterie. She finds their intimacy perplexing.

  “Sorry we missed breakfast.” Coralie smoothes out some creases in her knee-length skirt and straightens the cuffs of her white blouse. “We were a little preoccupied.”

  “What did you two do last night?” Mistress Sirena smirks at them from a couch by the fireplace. “You’re both glowing like hundred watt bulbs.”

  Grinning, Coralie plants herself on the other end of the couch, gesturing for Pet to sit at her feet. “We enjoyed each other in any and every way that we could.” She rubs Pet’s shoulders, encouraging her to snuggle close. “And then again this morning.”

  Sirena’s eyes widen. “But you didn’t … ?”

  “Of course not.” Coralie flexes her ankle as Pet bends to deliver a flurry of kisses.

  This time, Pet slips off Coralie’s shoe and fondles her stockinged foot, rubbing her toes, her arch, her heel, and laying kisses on her at intervals. When she stumbles upon a ticklish spot, Coralie murmurs, her toes curling, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

  “You’ve got it so good.” Sirena sighs wistfully, watching Pet go to work. “I practically have to beg Brat to rub my feet. Do you have any idea how undignified that is? And I swear she hates every bloody minute of it.”

  “Well, I can’t help you with your companion problems”—Coralie whimpers when Pet sucks a toe int
o her mouth—“but I can confirm that I’m a very lucky woman.” She thinks especially of Pet’s beautiful anatomy.

  “You’re about to be,” Sirena corrects her. “If you can intuit her true name.”

  Pet’s ministrations falter.

  “All in good time.” Coralie keeps her tone neutral, wholly unconcerned.

  Sirena laughs. “I think you forget how well I know you. If you don’t get laid soon, you’ll self-destruct. Are you sure you don’t want to borrow Brat for a quickie?”

  Pet’s face falls, her hands dropping from Coralie’s foot.

  “Quite sure.” Coralie cups Pet’s head in her hands, letting her know, beyond any doubt, that it won’t happen. “I’m waiting for Pet.”

  “That’s cute.” Sirena rolls her eyes. “But you might want to be careful. The way you’re flaunting her is starting to rile up some of the other Mistresses.”

  “Are you saying I might have some competition for Pet’s affection?” Coralie feigns shock. “You think it possible that her head could be turned by another?”

  As a demonstration of her commitment, Pet rests her chin in Coralie’s lap, purring.

  “Perhaps I might want her for myself,” Sirena teases. “Would you consider a trade?”

  “Don’t bother,” a Mistress on the other side of the room cuts in on their conversation. “I’ve heard Pet’s unable to perform.”

  “Is that so?” Coralie curls a lock of Pet’s hair around her finger, eyeballing the envious Mistress with a sour glare. “You think she’s impotent?”

  “She spent over six months with Mistress Isabelle, and there was no pregnancy to show for it.”

  “That drunken old wench was probably barren.” Coralie isn’t at all ruffled by the rumor. “Pet was wasted on her.”

  Growing self-conscious, the direction of the conversation venturing into unflattering territory, Pet turns her head in Coralie’s lap, keeping her face averted from the rest of the room, thereby concealing her unease, anxiety, and fear of inadequacy from everyone but Coralie.

  “Pet.” Coralie pats her lap, inviting her onto the couch.