by Misty Kayn
Back straight, breasts spilled over her bra, underwear somewhere around her ankles, hair in her face, she interlocked her fingers behind her back. If she were a real puppy, she'd pant now. So, she did just that, she panted with her little tongue over her bottom lip.
"Don't question me, don't hesitate when I tell you something, just do it. Understood?"
"I didn't want to hurt you."
He lifted an eyebrow.
"Yes, Sir, I'm sorry, I'll do it."
He snapped the tag from the new collar and stood before her. Her eyes on the most prized possession of his for her, she gave him her neck. "Pet store, Sir?"
"Only the best for my pup."
"Food was on sale this weekend."
Mid way to placing his collar on her, his eyebrows shot up.
She pinched her lips in a smile, and searched the ceiling with her eyes. Okay, so maybe she wasn't funny.
"Got a bag of treats," he said, his fingers brushing her neck. "Bacon bits. You like those?"
"Um…"
"You're anxious," he said.
"Yes." This meet was really an audition, a trial run for both of them. She hoped she pleased him at end of the weekend because her gut told her they were right for each other.
"Just kidding about the bits.” He crouched in front of her again and held out the collar. "Until Sunday, you understand that don't you?"
"Yes Sir, but I'm hoping you'll let me take it home." There it was, the truth, best tell him what she hoped for from the start. Laid bare, exposed, she inhaled the scent of new leather and wondered if honesty was the best policy.
He stopped, held the collar out of reach.
She lowered her head. "I sound like the most desperate person in the world and that's because I feel that way. I want you to know I won't make trouble for you after Sunday either way. I wouldn't."
He kissed the top of her head and secured the collar around her neck. He tapped her cheek and when she looked into his eyes, he searched her body with his warm, hard ones. "You're a beautiful puppy." He snapped his fingers. "On your hands and knees, let's go see what your boyfriend is up to." Sir headed outside.
"He's not my boyfriend."
"Mhm. Follow me."
What?!
FOUR
She knelt, glued to the floor, collar safe around her neck. Maybe that's why she managed not to follow him. The collar was like armor, security, and a guaranteed commitment to each other. 'Till Sunday. He wouldn't take the collar off because of objections. Dominants worth their grain didn't work that way. And her objections were valid, at least to her. When they planned the weekend they were supposed to have a late lunch than see how the meet went before the camping weekend, but now Dallas was here. "Please no."
He stopped at the exit, fisted the tent's door.
She hurried to explain. "He doesn't know what we do, he thinks I'm into rope and spanking."
"Aren't you?"
"Well, yes, I am." Good point. "This is different, you know it is."
"It's only different if you let it be. What's the problem?"
Was that…? Sir conquered a smile tugging on his lips. He thought her little drama was funny. She lowered her head and recalled being laughed at, how her ex made fun of her, thought that she was joking when she wasn't. How her cheeks burned with shame. Dallas might not laugh, but Shaye couldn't get into it with people watching. Scene was so very private, it wasn't for others, it was for him and her to share. She hoped Dallas took down the river already.
With thoughts of clear waters ahead, Shaye crawled to Sir's feet and placed her palms on his thighs. "I don't think that I can do it in front of him. Or anyone."
Honesty was best. She gripped his shorts and waited for a response. Maybe he'd adjust the scene and keep it in the tent, or at least allow her to cover herself. Yes, he'd reason with her. Right?
His eyes sparkled and he laughed at the top of his lungs. Wide eyed, she watched him, his head thrown back, his hand petting hers. What was funny? She was ready to beg.
When he came to, he gripped the back of her neck and tugged her up. He searched her face then brushed his lips on top of her nose. "Dallas stays. Take five, have a think then meet me outside."
"Oh Sir please, I don't know if I can…"
His lips closed on her neck and trailed behind her ear. She shivered, relaxed into him.
"We negotiated for days didn't we?"
"Mmmm."
"You brought him here didn't you?"
Soft lips on her neck, his warm breath, his tongue, his rough voice…what did he say again? "Mmmm."
He chuckled. "As far as I'm concerned, whoever doesn't like it, can take a hike." He kissed the underside of her ear. "You and I are doing what we came here to do. You've got your word and that's all I'm listening for. Everything besides me and you, doesn't matter."
He slung open the tent. She squinted her eyes and stole a quick glance towards the empty table then back at Sir. He stood under the shade like a Viking again. All hard, tall, and amused man. "Five minutes. Hands and knees, don't make me punish you. Not that I need a reason," he threw over his shoulder, kicking up gravel in his wake.
Shaye knelt and rested her forehead on the cold, dirty floor. "I can do this." She tapped her collar. "I can. Sir is an exhibitionist. He's an exhibitionist. Oh boy." He mentioned he was then they let it go because it wasn't a big part of the weekend. Sure, an onlooker here and there as people mingled down the river, but not Dallas. She'd marked exhibition as a soft limit, so it was open to push. She thumped her forehead on the floor. She brought him an audience. Wow, brilliant science! Einstein would be proud. With thoughts of brilliance she peeked out the door again, searched the campsite. All clear.
Pulling up the bra over her pointy nipples, she turned and searched the floor for her underwear. Five minutes were almost out. Running late again. Where the hell were her panties?! On her hands and knees, she speed-crawled around the tent. She searched around the bed, on the bed and then checked the duffle bags. Her panties laid on top of his duffle. Was he keeping them? What else was in the duffle? She knelt beside it. She shouldn't snoop. She shouldn't. She wanted to.
Instead, she dug into her duffle for a new pair of pink panties.
She crawled to the tent flap, took a deep breath and kneed her way outside. Air felt cooler out by the river and to a desert person used to the heat, nineties was a party. Shaye was born and raised in Palm Springs where a hearty July hit hundred and twenty Fahrenheit, and the only saving grace was the lack of humidity.
She stumbled over small rocks, down the alcove made by tall bushes and trees, to the left, where Sir faced the river. She padded across the rough stone, crunching the gravel with tops of her knees that only ever touched cushioned carpet, tile, and occasionally, soft California grass. Lucky for her, the ground wasn't hot. She'd never gone camping before, didn't know what to expect but she imagined it was beautiful and relaxing if only she stopped thinking about Dallas coming around. If he came now, he'd see her full back. Hair fastened up, collar on her neck, the curve of her slender back lead way to her firm bottom and bellow, where her pussy was exposed. Dallas would get an eyeful. What would he think?
The closer she got to the river and the table, the smoother the stone felt. Next to him, she knelt. His hand brushed her hair. Knees in the water she sat back on her heels and closed her eyes for a second. This place, kneeling beside his chair, was everything she hoped for this weekend. He placed the back of his hand over the chair rest. She lowered her head and kissed it, ran her nose on his skin. She marveled in his touch, sucked up his attention. "How did you find this place?" Sir lived in the Las Vegas suburbs.
"Buddy of mine told me about it," he said, hand back in her hair. "He grew up in Blythe."
Pair of jet skis rushed pass their alcove, engine ramble interrupted the quiet mood. Sir cracked open a small bottle of water. He cupped his hand and poured some inside then offered it to her. Eyes locked with his, she tongued his palm and slurped the water.
He poured more down her hair and face while she tried to keep up, lick it clean. She drank faster as not to waste then shook her head to clear the hair from her eyes. He swiped his hand over her face then cupped her jaw. "I drove here this morning thinking up thousands of women, and wasn't sure what I'd get for a puppy. You could've been anyone."
"Ditto."
"That's the issue with meeting online isn't it? You want it to be the person with whom you've flirted with but you don't really know until you meet them. Why did you join the chat room?" Fingers slid her bra cups down. Her nipples, like soldiers, perked up for him. "Take off your panties."
"Privacy," she spoke while removing her underwear. "Anonymity, I guess. I'm there, freaky with like-minded people and nobody bats an eye. It's fun. I didn't think I'd meet you."
"I considered taking a sub and there you were posting pictures of pretty little puppy girls."
"Aren't there subs in Vegas? I mean, it's Vegas, a place to be."
By the collar he guided her to kneel before him. She placed her hands on the back of his shins and threaded them through his coarse hair, occasionally pausing to squeeze his hard muscles. She rested her cheek on his leg and sighed thinking there's no other place she'd rather be right now. Or tomorrow. This weekend, with him here, was perfect. Smooth sailing with Sir reminded her of their messages and how close they grew in the months past. She still couldn't believe he was here, live, in flesh.
"There are local women," he said, "but the women I meet, or have, want more, and I simply don't have time to give them the care they need. In the past, my encounters somehow end up misunderstood. One girl showed up at my house and my kid—"
She lifted her head and hit the table. Ouch!
He rubbed over it feeling for bumps. "You all right?"
"I didn't know," she said. A vortex of images of Sir and a child, a small single family home, minivan, and a dog spun around in her head. Oh my God, a wife. She didn't ask if he was married, she presumed he wasn't because he approached her. But what if he were? Blood drained from her face, her heart thumped.
"I have a son. It didn't come up before. What is it?"
"Are you married?"
He pinched her chin. "No."
She buried her face in the small gap between his legs. Smooth sailing. Smooth sailing.
Above her, he chuckled. "He's nineteen."
Oh man, nineteen. She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. This was probably why he wanted someone in her thirties, someone closer to his forty two, not someone closer to his kid's nineteen.
"What do you think? I'm too old for you?"
Was he…he was unsure, he seemed vulnerable, like she would mind. "I think you're right for me."
"You say what's on your mind don't you?"
"I try."
Chair pulled back from the table, his face inches from hers, their breaths mingled. She wanted to kiss his mouth, and lick the dark stubble on his face, bite his Adam’s apple. She leaned forward.
He leaned back. "Honest little puppy, will do what I ask her to do. Feeling all warm and bad because she lied about her age. I could take advantage of that.”
"I think you should." She inched closer, like a magnet to steel.
"I think your mouth could use a plug."
"Why?"
"Because my dick needs attention. Show me your tongue.”
She stuck her tongue out. His teeth clamped on it, and held while she reached for his shorts and tried to pull them down. She keened in the back of her throat from the pressure of his teeth on her tongue. He leaned back in the chair, taking her with him. Drool pooled in the back of her mouth, spilled over her chin. She didn't even try to suck it in. The dirty, the arousing, the humiliating part of kneeling naked and collared while he bit her tongue, and fondled her tits, was fun. Both hands on her breasts he squeezed, growling in the back of his throat. She growled in turn. He pinched her nipple and she screamed. Drool dripped down her chest. Mouths locked, her tongue numb, she pinched his inner thigh. Her eyes smiled and his hardened then narrowed into slits.
He released her. "You want me to hurt you don't you?" Sir stood and yanked down his pants. Ass on her heels, she took in his height, his hard chest, and long legs. His eight and some inches of hard, long cock would hurt going down her throat, his mushroom top would block her airways, rush the tears down her face. She licked her lips and wiggled her ass then placed her hands on his thighs. She stuck her tongue out and waited.
He wouldn't give it to her. Instead, he took himself into his hand and stroked up and down, squeezed the base, drawing her eyes to his balls ready for sucking. She scooted closer and brought her face to them so she could breathe him in. He slapped her nose. She scrunched it up, held back a sneeze. One hand in her hair he continued to stroke himself, sometimes tapping the wet tip on her tongue. Her breasts tingled, arousal pooled. Dirty, wet puppy. She whined softly, begging to have him in her mouth.
"Aw, do it again."
She barked.
She clung to his legs, dug her nails in his skin, thinking if she could climb him he'd let her savor his skin. He didn't. He stroked himself watching her. "You want to suck, little puppy?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"This puppy is hungry."
"What's she hungry for?"
"She's hungry to please."
"What else?"
"Attention."
"Mhm,” he said with a smirk. “Puppy teeth can't have this bone. You sure you want it?"
She gave him a sad frown.
"Let me see that cute little tongue again."
When she opened her mouth and stuck her little tongue out, he tapped it with the tip of his cock. She closed her mouth over it and sucked, eyes rolling near the back of her head. Finally. Hard and smooth, he tasted of power, of leather and thorns, of river, of nature, of male. She moaned, eyelids closed, her mouth stretched around him, her tongue glided against his hardness. She reached for his balls.
Three quick slaps on her left cheek.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Her jaw rattled.
"You're a bad puppy."
She nodded, bobbed her head faster. The only thing on her mind was the cock in her mouth. The taste of him, the silky skin that glided against her tongue and the tip of him that hit the base of her throat. She took cues from the hand on the back of her neck that guided her mouth.
He bent at the knees and pulled her head to him. His cock buried to the hilt. Throat relaxed, she still choked on him. He was too deep inside. She gagged and swallowed, and gagged some more. He used her mouth, fucked it fast, sometimes pausing to bury it deep in her throat. Tears gathered in her eyes. Her stomach rose higher with each trust.
Footsteps sounded.
Someone was coming.
Shaye tried to pull away. Sir held her head to his middle and fucked himself faster. "It's okay, keep going."
She begged him with her eyes. Sniffing, whining, crying against the onslaught. Dallas watched them.
Her breasts perked out, her neck was dog-collared, her pussy glistened, and she was on her knees sucking cock. Shame gripped her chest. She closed her eyes, let the tears of shame spill.
Sir didn't stop, only grunted, "Bite down."
She pulled back her lips and slid her teeth against his hard skin.
He slapped her. "Bite!"
She bit gently near the tip of his cock, held, and cried in the earnest.
"Yes baby, that's good," he moved her head by the grip in her hair. "Don't hold back, I like puppy teeth."
She unlocked her jaw and closed her mouth, sniffing.
He pushed her shoulder.
She knelt on her side.
He stroked himself. "Open your mouth."
When she obeyed, he sprayed his come on her face, not a drop in her mouth.
This puppy didn't get rewards. Tonight.
Heaving breaths, Sir dressed then sat in the lounge chair. Shaye knelt in the shallow of the riverbank and let the cold stream pass by her whi
le her thoughts jumbled in a mess of shame and arousal. She wiped his come from her face only to bathe her tits and stomach in it. She couldn't help it, she needed to have it on her. Chin on her slumped shoulder, she whimpered, seldom pausing to breathe deep.
At her back, she could almost feel the weight of Dallas’ surprise.
"Take five then come sit with me,” Sir said.
FIVE
Shaye inhaled a scent of the man and rubbed her face on the hair on his chest. Eyelids peeled open, she stretched, fingertips brushed the leather around her neck. Above them, thick green roof fought the morning sun, stood guard against the blinding yellow rays. She rubbed the sleepy haze out of her eyes. Last night, on his lap, her nose buried in his neck, she fell asleep. Small mercies. Because she wasn't ready to face Dallas, not after Sir's cock fucked her mouth and came on her face. He didn't bother to wipe her clean. He wasn't uncomfortable in his own skin in front of people, in front of a man who, for all he knew, could've made a huge scene out of it. Fuck it, his attitude said. It was the attitude she wished for.
She lifted her head. Pink bra and panties dried on a rope above the duffle bags. Sir slept, his chest rose steadily against her soft breasts. Her fingertips, like a mannequin’s, played over his stubble and down to his Adam's apple, that edgy protruding part of a man. Her lips touched his chest and she inhaled again then trailed kisses up his neck. She rubbed the side of her cheek on his jaw to feel the abrasions of his stubble. She nipped.
"Mmmm," he mumbled.
"Good morning, Sir. Oh!"
He flipped her over, her back to the mattress, his hand pressed on her hip. She threaded her hands through his short, brown hair then hooked them behind his neck. Long eyelashes framed his eyes which seemed lighter in the morning with more yellows then browns. He was a handsome man.
After a minute of her obvious ogling, his eyebrows drew down. "Freckles, you sleep like a log," he said.
"I'm tired at the end of the week." Her eyes felt puffy from crying, but she hadn't felt this alive in over a year. She smiled broadly. "I want to swim to the Rocky Mountains this morning."
