by Violet Blue
“You want to what?” my boyfriend asked, one strong, tattooed arm tight around my slender body. And when I didn’t immediately repeat myself, he insisted, “Say it again.”
“I can’t.”
“You’d better—”
“I want to be your pet—”
“You are my pet,” he assured me, nuzzling his face against the back of my neck. His full lips parted, teeth spread, ready to bite.
“I’m not talking about being your good pet,” I told him, eyes straight ahead, staring at the red-painted wall in front of me, focused on it so that I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder and see his expression change. “Not your sweet kitten. Not your puppy dog.”
“Then what?”
“I want to be—”
“Say it.”
“I want to be your bad doggy.”
I felt him stiffen against me. In a single, silent frame, I felt his cock harden, felt his whole body change. From boyfriend to master in just one breath. He sighed, and I felt that warm rush of air against the skin on the nape of my neck, and then I sighed, too, with the relief of confessing. After that, everything happened so quickly that the actions were difficult for me to process. He was moving, standing at my side by the bed, and he was positioning me in the very center of our mattress, on my hands and knees, head up, shoulders back. I moved automatically, accustomed to obeying, but even so, I knew that this was different.
Justin admired my stance, and I felt more naked than I ever had before. The way his eyes roamed over my figure, as if he were a judge at one of those high-class dog shows, and I was just another fancy bitch in heat.
“You look good, Celia,” he said before turning away and rummaging through the contents of my dresser, searching for something. I should have guessed what he wanted, but I didn’t. He came back with a rhinestone-studded pink leather collar, which he attached as tightly as it would go around my neck.
“Now, bark like a dog for me.”
“A little dog or a big dog?” I said, and I giggled nervously, even though I knew how serious this whole thing was. I’d told him. I’d confessed completely. Now, he was giving me what I wanted. I should have been in the part already, not outside looking in, which is how I felt. Poodle-blonde hair tousled up in a high ponytail. That cute little collar around my slender throat.
“Your choice,” he said magnanimously. “Whatever works for you.”
I thought about it for a moment. But he was giving me too much freedom of choice. My thoughts wandered. What type of canine was I most like? A fiery-tempered dalmatian? A sweet-natured retriever? A carefully clipped high-end bitch with a haughty little wiggle? My golden-blonde bangs fell dramatically over my forehead, and Justin sweetly pushed the lock out of my eyes so that he could clearly see my face.
“I don’t think I can—” I said, even though I heard the barking sounds in my head. The rough, low growls of a purebred. Make me do this, I wanted to tell him. I can’t do it on my own. You do it for me.
Justin didn’t say a word. Not one word. He simply waited.
I closed my eyes and tried to obey. But I couldn’t. Here it was. Just the scene I’d begged him to give me. I was a bad doggy. I couldn’t even bark for my master.
“You’ve already got the collar on,” he said, his blue eyes shining as he tricked one finger beneath the thin leather band around my throat, “and you like wearing a leash when we go to S/M clubs, so what’s the fucking problem?”
I didn’t know. I just couldn’t do it. I thought back to my high school days, when I’d gone with friends to a rowdy after-school football game. Everyone rooted wildly for the team, screaming whenever we scored a point, but I simply mouthed the cheers, unable to join in the chorus of happy yells. Even today, I find it difficult to raise my voice in public, and sometimes waiters have a hard time hearing me when I place an order.
“A simple yip,” he tried next, climbing between my spread thighs and beginning to lick slowly up the inside of my legs. His ginger-red goatee tickled my skin in the most delicious manner. His tongue took tremulous, circuitous journeys on its way northward.
“Come on, Celia,” he urged. “Come on, little puppy. Wouldn’t you do anything you could to turn me on, Celia?”
Justin always knows how to bring me pleasure—pleasure that only comes from playing the most dangerous type of bedroom games. He’s the one who turned me on to being tied down, the sole boyfriend who ever read the deep, dark wish in my gaze to be a submissive. Others pegged me for a sweet thing, a vanilla chicklet who wouldn’t dare break a boundary. Not Justin. He raises the bar each time we fuck, and then he brings it right down on my naked hide, marking me as his own.
“Woof,” I said, and I would have collapsed upon myself in helpless giggles if I hadn’t been so incredibly nervous. As it was, my body shook dramatically, but that might have been because Justin had reached my clit and was now centered on it with the full attention of his lips and tongue. He made slow, sloppy circles around and around, and I raised my hips up to meet his angelic mouth.
“Woof, woof,” I tried.
“No, you’re not into it,” he critiqued, lifting up to look at me. I saw the shimmering gloss of my sex juices spread on his skin, shiny in the light. “You call yourself an actress?”
“I’ve never played an animal before.”
“But you’ve played a whore. You’ve played a coke-addict and a school teacher and an alien princess. All that’s required of you is a little imagination. So what’s the real problem?”
I didn’t have an answer.
“You know what happens to naughty puppies, don’t you?” Justin said.
Jesus, no, I didn’t. But the way he spoke gave me an instant idea of how the night might wind up. I suddenly foresaw what lay in my immediate future: Embarrassment. Arousal. Pain and pleasure. My face pressed into my own filth. And all because I was being disobedient for my master.
“Bad doggy,” Justin said, making a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue on the roof of his mouth. My heart did a flip-flop. My stomach clenched. I felt tears come to my eyes, because he knew. This is what I wanted. This is what I’d asked him for. “Such a bad little doggy—” he said, reaching up to tug on the collar around my throat, emphasizing his words with each firm pull. Why was I suddenly so wet?
“Please,” I murmured. “Tell me what happens to naughty puppies.”
“Try me,” he said, “keep pressing my limits and you might just find out.” And now he rolled me over in the bed. I heard the metallic click as he attached a leash to the collar on my throat, and then he was pulling back on the leather, forcing me to lift my head high. The fine muscles in my back tightened as I arched up. I could see my reflection in the round, gilded mirror over our bed, could see Justin take his position behind me. He was going to fuck me doggy-style. How appropriate was that?
“Head up,” he insisted, and I worked even harder to keep my balance and stay tall and firm. “Belly up,” he said next, tapping his fingers along my stomach. I took a deep breath, feeling my body respond to his commands. “Now, tail up,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Come on, Celia. Tail up—”
I shifted my hips, raising an imaginary tail high into the air. Then I gave my hips a subtle swivel, as if wagging my tail back and forth. In my head I saw myself as “Best in Show.”
“You’re going to bark,” he assured me now. “As I fuck you, I want you to bark.”
Although I was getting into the mode of role-playing, I could feel tears streaming down my cheeks. This was beyond mortifying. How was I supposed to make a sound like a dog? Forget what I’d told him. Forget what I’d asked for, an image that I’d spent years coming to. Forget it. All bets off. My brain couldn’t compute.
“You understand, don’t you, Celia?” he murmured as he slid his hard, dreamy cock between my thighs. He’d gotten incredibly aroused simply from our bizarre conversation. That should have told me something. When I didn’t answer, he pulled on the leash again, jerking my head up, and I nodd
ed quickly. But that wasn’t the type of response he was looking for. His hand came down hard on my rear, and I contracted instantly around his cock at the stinging sensation.
“Bark for me, baby,” Justin insisted. “Be a good doggy, just this once.”
I closed my eyes. Again, I tried to see the image in my mind. This is a trick I do at any audition: picture myself in the role. Lose myself firmly so that the “me” that is Celia Martin dissolves, to be replaced with the character I am going for. But now my character was a dog. Could I go that route? As I’d done before, I worked to get a feel for what type of mutt I’d be. A midsized pup, I decided. Well-groomed. Well-cared for. With a low voice and a high spirit. A dog who would play Frisbee in the park. Who would chase the neighbor’s prissy white Persian cat up a tree. Who would bring the newspaper up to her master, but not release it upon request. A playful bitch, one that wasn’t completely obedient—not out of disrespect, but out of sheer willfulness.
“Bark,” Justin said, his cock driving hard, his hand slipping around my waist to find my clit. This was the missing link, the piece that I had needed to locate my center.
It wasn’t a woof, woof this time. Not a bark, not a yip. I opened my eyes, met his gaze in the mirror, tossed my long turbulent mane of gold hair free from the ponytail holder, and gave a deep growl. Every vibration of the sound was animalistic. There was no pretty tow-headed girlfriend in bed with Justin anymore. There was only a canine, a sultry bitch in heat.
“That’s it,” Justin said, obviously surprised. He kept up the motion, his cock working steadily between my legs, but now he unfastened the leash and doubled it in his hand. “That’s the girl,” he continued, urging me on.
My next attempt was more dog-like, an urgent, insistent barking sound. Justin rewarded me by fucking me harder and faster, his fingers plucking a melody out on my clit, taking me higher. And as I grew closer to climax, the barking continued. I couldn’t believe it was me making these noises. But maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe it was the pet that I’d become. As I got louder, Justin took on his proper role as my owner.
“Keep it down, girl,” he said, a definite retraction of what he’d ask me for before. “The neighbors will complain. They’ll think we actually have a pet in here. It might actually get to the landlord.”
That only made me bark louder. I wanted to come. I wanted him to slam into me with everything he had.
“Bad doggy,” he scowled, bringing the doubled-up leash against my ass. I whimpered at the punishing blow. “Bad doggy,” he said again, smacking the other haunch with the leash. He worked me seriously with the belt, striping my hide over and over. I could picture the instant berry-red welts against my pale skin, and I rose up to reach each blow. Discipline is the magic that holds me together. “You listen to your owner. You be a good girl.”
But I wouldn’t. I growled and yipped. I pretended there was a full yellow moon outside, and I threw back my head and howled. Other dogs in the neighborhood answered my wails and soon there was a cacophony of canine noises filling the air.
“We’re going to have to have a few solid lessons in obedience training,” Justin scolded me as he dropped the leash and gripped into my hips. “A lot of long hours with your head on the floor at my feet, doing exactly what I say. You’re going to have to learn to lie down. To sit. To stay. You’re going to have to learn how to be a good puppy for me. Now, behave—”
But no matter how serious his tone of voice, I wouldn’t behave as he demanded. I continued to bark, my voice rising, and Justin pulled away from the bed, a frown marring his handsome features. While I watched, he reached for the newspaper on the nightstand and spread the paper out on the floor. Then he glared at me.
“Down—” he said.
I didn’t move. He let the belt land on my ass several times in a row in the hardest strokes I’d ever felt. Then he let up and gave me a second chance.
“Down,” he said again. “Now.”
Quickly, I started to move off the bed.
“Like a dog,” he hissed through gritted teeth. So, like a dog, I moved on all fours off the bed to the paper-covered floor. “This is your bed tonight.”
I gazed up at him, concerned, but he wouldn’t say another word. Quietly, heart racing, I curled myself up at his feet. Justin gazed down at me, then nodded to himself and retreated to our bed. I heard the mattress moving as he jacked off, but he didn’t ask me to join him. My eyes on the window, I watched the moonlight. My pussy throbbed, but I didn’t touch myself. I lay there, breathing softly, until I fell asleep.
In the morning, I was surprised to find myself on the spread-out newsprint, surprised to see Justin with his leash in hand, standing at my side. I started to rise, and he put one hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down. With a firm gesture, he locked a leash onto my collar, then tugged me upright.
“Obedience school begins now,” he said.
My lips parted, but he shook his head.
“You’ll be punished,” he assured me, “for each infraction. Behave yourself, little doggy, if you know what’s good for you.”
I followed after him on hands and knees as he led me from our bedroom down the hall until we reached the French doors leading to our plush backyard. “You use the dirt out here, when you need to go,” he said, showing me my spot, “and when you’re finished, you wait for me here.” He pointed to a rattan matt he’d set out on the wood porch.
His eyes were on me, staring hard, and I realized suddenly that he was actually waiting for me to pee in the backyard. Most bizarre situation ever. I wouldn’t do it. But he was waiting, and I had to go. I had to. What kept me from standing up and walking down the hall like a grown-up woman to our bathroom? I don’t know. The look in his eyes? Maybe. The fact that I’d confessed to him this very fantasy the night before? Probably. While Justin watched, I scampered off the porch to a square of dirt and squatted, pissing on the dark earth while he nodded his approval. When I came back to his side, he scratched the back of my head and led me back into our house.
I thought he would fuck me. I thought he would give in to the game playing and just fuck me. Rocket inside me and let me transform back into myself. But he was serious about his obedience training, and with the leash still attached to my collar, he led me back to our room and positioned me in front of our mirrors.
“Down,” he said, and I humbly fell to his feet. “Now, sit,” he commanded, and I easily obeyed. “Good girl,” he said, “now go and fetch my slippers.”
I crawled to the closet and nudged the door open, then reached for his leather bedroom slippers with my hand.
“With your mouth—” Justin demanded. I glanced over my shoulder at him, and saw that he wasn’t kidding. I shook my head, and he was on me in an instant. “You obey me when I give you an order,” he said, and the leather leash was unbuckled from my collar, and I found myself on the receiving end of the ferociously stinging blows. I bent down, cowering, as the leash found my bare ass again and again, and I realized just how much I desired the pain he rained down on me.
“Again,” he said. “We try again.” But I wouldn’t put my mouth on those shoes, so he hauled me back in place for a second brutal encounter with the flailing leather strip of that leash. My ass was on fire. My thighs burning up. Each stripe of the belt made me more his obedient pet and less his girlfriend.
“Behave—” he hissed, and as something seemed to tear inside me, I lowered my head and took one slipper and then the other into my mouth, making two trips to bring my master his shoes.
The quality of my surrender made Justin harder than steel. He lifted me onto the bed and took me again, on all fours, exactly as I deserved to be fucked. My pussy was dripping wet; I was as turned on as I’d ever been in my life. Justin’s cock drove inside of me with ease, and I saw myself as exactly who I was—who I’d always wanted to be: his pet. His puppy dog. Subservient to my master.
I looked into the mirror again and saw Justin reaching his limits. He lowered his head as the c
limax built within him, and he continued to fuck me just as hard as I needed it. Right at his peak, he touched my clit, just touched it, and I came with him, the explosions ricocheting back and forth between us.
He fell onto the bed and I curled up next to him, licking his lips with my tongue, kissing his face all over. I was still hungry, worked-up, and I moved down his body until my mouth was poised over his cock. I started slowly, licking the tip, then moving in a line all the way down to lick my sticky juices off his cock. Nuzzling my face against him, I lapped at his slippery pole. Then I took him into my mouth and felt his rod grow quickly hard again. I didn’t speak, didn’t make any noise at all. I was still his pet, but now I was his humble, subservient pet, and I worked as hard as I could to let him know how pleased I was.
He knew.
“Good doggy,” Justin grinned as I sucked him. He petted my long hair as my mouth took him in. “Oh, Celia, you know you can be such a good fucking doggy when you try.”
Curious
JULIE O’HORA
Over a few months’ worth of sex talk, I made the quantum leap from curious to ready. Apparently, that’s a finer line than one might think.
Brian had been my boyfriend for about two years. We had a good relationship—good friendship, good sex. Over time, as we got more comfortable with each other, we started sharing fantasies while making love. One night, I remember, we got talking about doing it on a sidewalk bistro table in Paris, naturally with plenty of onlookers. That was hot. I still think about that one, years later.
Anyway, one night he confessed that his biggest fantasy was to watch two women make love. No surprise there: He was a straight American male. He didn’t want to join in, just to sit and watch and jerk off. The first couple of times he brought it up, I put up my mental shields. But deep down, I knew I liked to look at pictures of nude women. In fact, I preferred looking at women’s bodies to men’s. But have sex with a woman? That’s a helluva leap, I thought.
