I crawl up to him and wonder what to do now. My old master always wanted me to rub my head against his shins, but I don’t know if this is what he wants. So I wait to be told.
Without saying anything, he steps to the side of me. He just looks. Quiet, and for a long time. I arch my back for him, and drop down onto my forearms. And then he steps beside me and does the same thing. My pussy feels him watching and it wants to hide, but I force myself to stay still and let him look.
He runs a hand over my head and down my back.When he gets to my ass, he squeezes it and then gives it a little smack. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s loud. I don’t even jump.
“I don’t know,” he says. “You seem awfully well-behaved. I wonder what you could have done to end up here?”
This is a trick, I know. To see if I’ll act out, or give him an answer. I stay totally still, on my knees and forearms, waiting to see what he’ll do.
He squats down behind me and runs his fingers down my thighs on the outside. Just his fingertips, with enough pressure that I wonder if my skin turns even whiter beneath his touch. He strokes the back of my thighs, moving closer and closer to my center.
“Pretty pussy,” he says and I think he means me, but also he means the part of me that he’s almost touching. That I so badly want him to touch. He’s so close I can feel his breath against my skin.
I lean back into his fingers, asking for it. Please.
“Oh no,” he says. His fingers go away, and he stands. I can’t hear anything from behind me, and I don’t dare look. I worry that I’ve ruined it, that he’s going to take me back to that cage.
Footsteps, and then he’s in front of me. Without looking at me, he picks the black bag off the table, and disappears again. I hear the clasp of the bag, the paper and something soft all rubbing together. The sounds excite me, even though I don’t know what they are.
He touches his fingers to the bottom of my pussy, not on my clit, but close. And then he shows me how wet I am by sliding two fingers inside me. I clench around his fingers, to try and keep them there, but he just laughs and pulls them out.
“My, you are a greedy girl,” he says. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d been a stray for a long time.”
I smell the lube before I feel it, and my body responds. My nipples tighten against the blanket, and my pussy starts a slow pound that I wonder if he can see.
Then I feel it – he’s lubed a dildo, and he’s twisting it into me like a corkscrew. I’m so wet that I doubt he needed lube, but I like the sound it makes, the kind of slow squish as it enters me. When the dildo is all the way in, he taps the end of it. I’m so full I feel that little tap all the way down inside me.
He presses something small and hard against my ass, and I raise my head in surprise. I nearly look back at him over my shoulder, but I stop myself.
Still, he sees.
“You can look,” he says. “All good kitties need a tail, don’t you think?”
I look over my shoulder. He holds a small black butt plug with a long kitty tail attached. The color matches my hair. I’d never had one before, and I can’t wait to see how it looks. I arch my butt in the air, to tell him that it’s perfect.
I watch him as he slides it inside me. Even lubed up, it’s big, bigger than I’m used to, and he goes slow, letting my body open up to the pressure. I feel it filling me up, until I’m not sure I can take anymore. And then it’s all the way in. It gives me a perfect tail, long and sleek. I twitch my ass, which makes the tail bat back and forth and wiggles the butt plug and the dildo inside me.
He laughs. “I’m glad you like it.” With both hands, he strokes my tail.The butt plug hits all my pressure points, and I’m afraid I’m going to come. I make a long, low sound, half squeak, half meow, and turn back to the front. I can’t watch anymore.
He walks around to the front of me, his hand trailing over my ass and up my back as he goes. He unzips his jeans so slowly I can hear each of the teeth as they come apart.
“Most kitties I know love cream,” he says. I try not to feel my heart stutter when he says that. Does he know a lot of kitties? I don’t want the answer.
He slides his jeans and underwear down. God, he’s gorgeous there too. Slim hips and muscular thighs. And then his cock. It sticks out from under his button-down, long and wide, and I want to lick it. I want to see what he tastes like, to know what it would be like to have him fill my mouth the way I’m filled everywhere else.
He puts his hands in my hair again, that just-right pressure until I’m practically purring against him.
“How about you, sweet girl?” he asks. He makes a ring around his cock with his fingers, offers it to me.
I touch my tongue to my top lip.Yes please.
“Go ahead,” he says. I lean forward and touch my tongue to the base of his cock. He tastes of clean salt and wood, something fragrant. Pine or cedar. I lap at it while he holds himself out to me, following the veins that snake just beneath the skin. It’s so hard I can feel the skin stretching around it.
I take just the tip between my lips and run my tongue over the smooth bulb there. He moans, and the sound makes me clench around all the things he’s put inside me.
He pushes all the way into my mouth, and I take as much of him as I can. It feels so good to feel him pulsing on my tongue. I suck him, hard and then soft, taking little nibbles sometimes, until his breath gets harsh and ragged. Pre-cum coats my tongue and I lap it up, playing the tip of my tongue around his hole. I suck on the shirttails that hang on either side of his cock, letting my tongue feel the rough fabric. With the fabric on my tongue, I lick him again, just to see if he likes the way it feels, like a wet kitty tongue. He hisses between his teeth and his cock jumps.
When I take all of him inside my mouth again, he puts his hands around my throat. Not hard, but like a temporary collar. Like a way to claim me for now.The thought makes me so wet I can feel the dildo start to slide out of me.
“Don’t let it,” he says. And I clench my pussy hard to keep it in. I know it won’t stay for long, so I’m grateful when he moans and arches against me. “Don’t stop,” he says. “I want to give you my cream. I want you to lick it all up.”
His cock pulses in my mouth and then he floods me. He tastes salty, but sweet, and I wonder if he ate something just for me, to make it taste like that. I swallow it all, and then lick every drop from him. I nestle my tongue in his balls, and lick him until he’s clean.
He pulls up his pants, and sits in the chair in front of me. “You’re such a good, good pussy,” he says. “Do you want to come home with me?”
Before I can answer, he dangles the collar in the air, and I swipe at it, but miss, which makes him laugh.
“Do you think you want this?” he asks.
He holds it out in front of me, a hand on each end, so it’s flat. All I’d have to do is put my neck on that strip of leather and I would be his.
“Don’t say yes unless you’re sure,” he says. “I don’t have any other pussies.You’ll be my only one, but I’m not always as nice a master as I was today.”
I’m counting on that. I stretch my neck out until I can feel the leather collar against the bottom of my neck. He wraps the leather around my skin.The buckle makes a small metallic sound as he fastens it.When I swallow, I feel the smooth weight of the leather against my throat.
“Now you’re mine for a long time, sweet girl,” he says.
I sure hope so.
2.04 a.m., Our Hostess’ Second-Floor Walk-In
Savannah Lee
I had certainly never looked into a man’s eyes before when we were both stuffed with cock.
Jeff and I had just blundered into our hostess’s second-floor walk-in closet, and Jeff had just slid it in me from behind, when I got the dread/thrill pinprick on my flesh that told me we were not alone.Yikes, maybe that was why the light was already on. I pushed aside a well-cut D&G jacket on my left to discover – him: startled, amused and, I couldn’t help but noti
ce, fuck eyed.
Just like me.
Besides his eyes, I put together a jumbled impression. He leaned, like I did, on the waist-high skirt bar for his man to have him from behind. I saw tousled hair, a soft mouth, an incongruous ’beater, and a very strained white thong.
Ordinarily I’d have checked out the thong. This time, the eyes won. I’d seen bulges before. I hadn’t ever seen eyes quite like that.The eyes of a doe – a male doe. Deep and hurt, proud and fucked. In fact, it was too much. I glanced away.
“Hello,” he nonetheless offered, rather sweetly.
Jeff, behind me and still clueless, jumped eight feet. “Ohmigod!”
The stranger’s lover reached out and thumped Jeff on the back. I felt the shock waves. “No problem, man. Great party, huh? You do your bitch, I’ll do mine.”
What did he call me? I whipped my head around to try to see this guy, but got that pushed-aside jacket in the face. Nonetheless I snapped, “Hey, let’s have some respect for the receptives here.”
Jeff gave a stoned, dudely laugh and pulled me back on him harder. “I’ll respect you when I’m not, like, reaming you.”
The hidden man gave a laugh that didn’t sound nearly as all-in-good-fun as Jeff’s had. He made a similar move on my counterpart, who took it with a soft groan and a whitening of his knuckles on our hostess’s skirt bar. I actually felt kind of worried and wanted to ask intrusive questions about lube sufficiency. But I became fatally entranced by the look of mingled transport and suffering on his face.
He must have felt this, because he met my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to stare.”
“Oh, go ahead,” he told me with a sad smile.
So I did. Oh yes, I feasted my gaze on his tender mouth and taken eyes.
“Wow, Meg,” said Jeff cluelessly, “you just got a lot wetter.”
He would, of course, not just say that, but say that while this guy and I were still in eye contact. I wanted to sink through the floor.
But the guy didn’t laugh or gloat. Instead, those starkly cock-fucked eyes shared only vulnerability to exactly that kind of embarrassment. My heart fluttered at his kindness.
So did the rest of me.
“Wow!” cried Jeff. “Now you’re dripping down your —”
“Shut,” I said warningly, “up, and fuck me.”
My buddy’s partner shifted next to Jeff. His voice was a rude intrusion, like tires over gravel. “I wouldn’t let my bitch talk that way to me.”
Now it was my buddy’s turn to wither in mortification. I tried to offer him the same safety with my eyes that he’d offered me.
Jeff meanwhile explained, “I don’t really have rules about how Meg can talk to me.You know? We’re not D/S or anything.”
A sandpapery chuckle. “Neither are we!”
“Ohhhhkay,” said Jeff.
I stared in horror at my beautiful friend, who was now officially martyring himself to that creep.
He leaned closer and murmured, “It’s all right, he . . . he gets this way.”
“What do you mean?”
Even softer and closer. “Shhhh. He’s right there.”
I leaned closer too. “You’re not helping him.”
“Yeah . . . you’re right. Meg.” He tried out my name.
I asked him his.
Before he could answer, the creep cut us off. “Your name is BITCH,” he yelled, then decided to prove it by ramming my friend into the bar so hard the whole closet nearly came down. The jolt caused Jeff to knock an ovary and I buckled with a yell.
“Are you okay?” Jeff and my unknown friend chorused. Two hands went to my back.
Jeff’s hand was concerned and reassuring. The stranger’s hand . . . the stranger’s hand knew. Infinite in its delicacy and tenderness, it knew what I felt.
We met eyes again, and we did not look away.
Until there was another jolt and the enraged creep began piling it on. He started fucking my still nameless friend cruelly, fucking him to hurt him. My friend dropped his gaze to save his pride and marshal his strength.
Well. I would not let him be alone.
“Jeff,” I said. “Give it to me hard. Hard.”
I took the stranger’s hand.
He lifted it up and together we grasped the high bar. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me – that he accepted me, that he offered himself in return, and that he took us up to higher ground.Though I don’t suppose it looked like any kind of triumph. More like ocean passengers clinging to a wreck. I suppose in a way that’s what we were.The storms that pounded us were inside us, but that didn’t mean we weren’t going to drown. The truth was, we were both of us struggling to hold on, both of us trembling, both of us reduced to fuckholes.
In his eyes I saw the pathos of it, indistinguishable from the beauty.
But in my own, despite it all, I felt the power. Even the pride. After all, if we were fuckholes, what were the men who were using us? They were fuckers. Fuckers. No one wins. No one gets out of here alive.
Jeff came with a smothered moan, a beautiful sound of surrender – the fucker fucked. The creep gave a yell like his load was a pistol shot, like he wished it would tear through his lover-victim and take his heart. “Fuck you,” he prosaically added, with a shove. I caught sight of him then – shiny bald head, shiny testosterone-furied eyes, shiny livid face. He was wearing a cream-colored suit into which he zipped his shiny red cock and stalked out.
Jeff sounded exhausted. “Well thank god that’s over. Let’s go, Meg.”
I said, “I . . . I’ll be right there.”
Jeff closed the door behind him.
Alone now, the stranger and I still held hands up on the bar. I looked at our fingers entwined, more than entwined, jammed in each other. Knuckles white. That was what it had taken to survive what we had desired.
That was how much we had given each other.
I pulled him to me and wrapped my arms around him, one survivor to another.
He was still half-hard against me.
At that moment I realized something. “You were grabbing the bar the whole time,” I said. “Or my hand.” He didn’t understand what I meant.
I said, “You couldn’t touch yourself. And no one else did. No one really gave you anything. Any pleasure. Any . . . love.”
“Oh . . .”
I knelt down and took out his shaved, half-swollen cock. I opened my mouth.
He said, “No.”
Well, of course, duh. Dejected and embarrassed, I bowed my head.
He bent and took my arms. “I don’t want you down on your knees.” He brought me to my feet and brushed some hair off my forehead.
The moment was too intimate to deny, but I didn’t see where it could go.
“So what happens now?” I pleaded.
He went half-shy, half-wicked in the eyes.
“Oh . . . my,” I said. “Are you going to fuck me?”
In answer, he went all the way down this time to his abandoned jeans and came up with a telltale little packet.
“That is,” he amended, stopping himself before he opened it,“if you actually want another run.That guy really hammered you.”
“ ‘That guy’ who?” I said.
He looked me over with frank admiration.
“Respect the receptives.” That seemed kind of clumsy to say out loud right now though.The moment called for something less formal than advocacy or analysis. So I popped a little fist in the air and said, “Bitch power!”
“Oh . . . let’s not try to reclaim that one tonight. Let’s let it go.” He tore the condom packet open.
“What should we call ourselves? Sisters? Let me help.” It was green; it turned his prong alien as I unrolled it.
It was easy for him to breach my wet and well-used hole. I just hiked my leg and he went all the way in.
And we looked at each other.
Now we were across the familiar divide. My eyes were still the eyes of the fi
lled, the invaded, the taken, but his had changed. His were the eyes of the possessor.
I think he felt it even more keenly than my other lovers because he knew it from the other side. Jeff, when I looked in his eyes at these moments, had an innocence about him. But my still nameless friend knew what he was doing, oh, how he knew.
Then he proceeded to do it . . . differently.
He was soft. Not his dick, but how he used it, and held me, and gazed in my eyes, yes, my bitch eyes. Oh.
I never would have believed that that could do it for me. I was one of those girls that liked to be fucked. By men who saw it as their role in life to give a like-minded woman the slamming she deserved. They could be neo-hippies like Jeff, they could be go-getters like my last one, but when it came to fucking, they had to lay me down and mean it. This even influenced my taste in music. I never liked the sweet pop boys. I listened to the hard stuff.That’s just how I was.
This man, though he was inside me, retained the gentle nature of the bottom that he was. But I loved it. I loved looking in his empathetic eyes, feeling his tender motion inside me. He aimed not to take me but to feel me, to live inside me, to ease our walls into a nice fit as if they were going to stay that way.To know me, really, in a way that I’d never thought of that word before.
Damned if it didn’t make him the butchest thing in the world to me right then. Or maybe that was the only way, given my own desires, that I could explain it to myself. Whatever, it took my breath away. Looking in those eyes, so soft and male, I —
—turned to stone as our closet door tore open.
There stood the creep.
“I knew it!” he shouted. “I knew it! I knew it!”
My friend clutched me in simultaneous protection and appeal.
For a minute I felt like anything could happen, by which I meant that this guy was going to put us in the hospital. Then he let out a red-veined, anguished scream. He crumpled to the carpet.
“Paul!” he wept. “Paul! Paul!”
Now that he was on his knees, I got a view of the crowd he’d brought with him.Yes, we had an audience. Half of them looked shocked to see Paul with me (those would probably be the ones to whom he was out) and the other half looked shocked, and mortified, atThe Creep. (Those would probably be the ones to whom Paul was ... um ... in.)
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