Bound by Lust Read online

  “I love you, Katie.” He moved and my body responded, plump and swollen with arousal.

  I could only nod, unable to speak from the unshed tears clogging my throat.

  He moved a bit faster, and my body rode up to meet him, my upper thighs scraping the table lip, my mouth working but no sound coming out.

  “Say you love me, too,” Anthony said, reaching around me, finding my clit and giving it firm wet rubs with his rough fingertip.

  “I love you. I do.” And then the sob broke free, but Anthony drove into me and the sob became a cry as I came, my body flickering around him. The rain picked up, beating down out of the leaden sky. Drips snaked through the cracks of the deck and baptized us with cool wetness.

  I pushed back to him, opening for him, wanting him to come too. He held me in his hands and stilled my hips as he disengaged.

  “Oh, come on—”

  “Hush,” he said and walked to the front of me. Anthony nudged the picnic table away with a bump of his hip, and it groaned across the concrete as it slid.

  He palmed my ass and lifted me a few inches. I wrapped my legs to his waist as his cock found me, slid home—spearing the wet slit of my pussy. My fingers found the overhead beam, and I wrapped my hands around it to hold myself up a bit, the biting clothesline no longer gnawing at my flesh.

  We were face to face, lips to lips, his breath on my cheek. His eyes half-open and startling grey, his face set in a determined way. I held on tight to him with my thighs as he fucked me, driving deep, his mouth pressed to mine. His cock nudged all the places deep inside that made me shiver and say silent prayers to go faster, deeper, harder.

  “You’re mine again. All mine and no one else’s.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m all yours, baby. Like it or not.”

  “Yes.”

  A fat drop of rain hit my forehead, streaked a cold trail over my eyelid, and fell away. More rain slipped through the deck as the storm raged out in the open, crashing into the new grass, making mud. Making a mess. Washing away the old.

  “Spring is good.” He grinned, leaned in, and bit my throat.

  I nodded and felt my body grow tight around him.

  “Spring is really good.” His voice a soft murmur.

  I leaned in and licked him, kissed him, put my mouth on him wherever I could. One of his hands broke free from my ass and found my nipple, pinching hard the way I liked, driving a tiny spike of pain through my body. My fingers sang from holding me up, my pussy thumped with a fresh need for release, and when my husband pinched me once more I tossed my head back and cried out under the steady hiss of rain—coming hard. Surrendering.

  Anthony came with a small grunt and then uncoiled the rope that held me. He sat back on the picnic table with me still wrapped around him—my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. God, I hope no one could see us down here. But if they could—fuck it.

  I felt his heartbeat slow, and mine followed suit. He stroked my hair. “There’s soup.”

  I shivered.

  “It’s warm inside.”

  “I know.”

  A huge drop of rain fell and smacked me in the forehead, but my gaze was trapped on the bright green lawn and the falling rain. Anthony chuckled and brushed it away. “That one got you good.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, squeezing him with my whole body. “I like it.”

  BEING HIS BITCH

  Janine Ashbless

  The theme for the Club Night this month was “The Pet Show.” There was no way that Dev and I were going to miss this one, and we put a lot of effort into my costume—or rather, lack of costume, since it was nearly all body paint. I picked the color scheme based on a boxer dog that lives down our street: cream belly and chest, but a beautiful dark brindle all over the back and legs and face. I had my hair cut short and elfin and made a pair of dog ears in velvety faux fur that sat atop my head, half-pricked and endearingly floppy. Dev did the paintwork himself, using a skin-friendly, grease-free ink; he’s in graphic design, and he loves to get his art kit out when he has an excuse to do something properly creative.

  The airbrushing took a couple of hours, there were so many layers. “It ought to last out the night, unless you rub it off,” he said. But I wasn’t making any promises.

  To finish off my costume, we had a dog collar—a broad greyhound one that made me hold my head up, with a dog tag dangling from it—and a chain leash with a leather loop. Engraved on the disc was the legend “Naughty Little Bitch.” We could’ve got that done discreetly ourselves, using one of those machines you find in pet stores, but Dev made me go into the engraver’s shop and order it in person from the man behind the counter. The guy gave me one hell of a look but didn’t ask any questions, and I emerged from the shop with my panties so wet and my legs so wobbly that I could hardly walk straight.

  “All done?” Dev asked.

  “Yes,” I whispered, leaning my head against his chest.

  He knew what that meant. Taking the disc from me with one hand, he put the other on my ass and gave me a squeeze and a pat. “Good girl.” I whimpered and rubbed up against him, but he just chuckled. “Save it for Saturday night.”

  By Saturday I was strung out on anticipation and so inflamed with arousal that Dev had to order me to stop touching myself as we drove into the city. I shed my coat in the cloakroom with a feeling of profound relief.

  Dev was wearing his favorite club costume: a kilt of thick industrial rubber, New Rock boots, and a steampunk top hat and goggles. He looked so good in that gear that I wanted to suck his cock already. I could see that quite a few people had turned up in some version of Furry costume, and I was sure I’d be a lot more comfortable than all of them in the heat of the rooms upstairs, but comfort wasn’t what it was all about, here.

  Dev clipped the leash to my collar and used it to pull me to him and plant a kiss on my lips, all slippery, possessive tongue, reminding me where my focus lay for the evening. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” Already people were checking me out, there in the lobby. I was aware of grins and raised eyebrows and nods. Under my paint I was naked and shaved as smooth as silk. I looked respectable from a distance but incredibly naughty close up, and that made my nipples stand out like switches ready to be flicked.

  “I love you, Rosie,” he growled. “So fucking much. You’re so beautiful.” Then he tugged the chain. “Heel, bitch.”

  We ascended the stairs slowly, morphing into character with every step, his pace proud and easy, my obedient place at his side and one step behind. Playing this particular game is, for me, the ultimate in intimacy. Playing it in public for the first time was taking our trust in one another to a whole new level.

  We went into the bar first and queued so that Dev could order drinks—bottled beer for him, bottled water for me. As soon as he stopped walking I sank to my knees by his leg, waiting patiently as a good dog should. We had considered my staying on hands and knees throughout the night but had decided it would be irritatingly slow to move around, not to mention painful for me and not in a good way. Going to dog height when we were stationary seemed the best compromise.

  “Hello Dev.” Black leather chaps loomed over me. It was Bill, a club friend and someone we had played with before, but I didn’t try to greet him. I was being a mute animal, after all. “Nice dog you’ve got there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Princess.”

  “May I stroke her?” Etiquette is everything at the club. People are scrupulously respectful of boundaries: without that the whole thing would fall apart.

  “Go ahead. She likes having her chest rubbed.” Dev turned away slightly to give his order to the barman, and Bill stooped to scratch me gently behind the ears—my real ears.

  I opened my mouth, panting a little and leaning into the caress. It was stuffy down here among the forest of legs. I could smell leather and spilt beer. The front of my admirer’s pants was tented by a bulge, but
that didn’t mean anything in particular: most of the guys here walk round with a semi the whole night, and I can’t speak for all the girls, but my pussy is open and juicy and fluttering from the moment we walk in. Bill crouched to caress the smooth cream blaze of my chest, stroking my breasts, and I shut my eyes in pleasure, pushing those orbs up into his hand. I’m a dog. Anybody may stroke me, so long as my master gives permission. Anybody.

  “Good girl, Princess,” he murmured. His fingers flicked my pert nipples. “You like that, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer, but as Dev turned back to us and Bill stood to talk to my owner once more, I caught the tips of his fingers with my tongue and licked them, and he laughed.

  Carrying both drinks, Dev walked me though the rooms of the club—the dance floor, the theatre, the playroom where the keenest members were already warming up with floggers and paddles on the various pieces of equipment—and into the lounge. This has comfortable chairs and cushions, and there were plenty of people standing and sitting about, talking and showing off their costumes. I couldn’t help looking furtively around, though my attention was supposed to be on Dev. They looked so beautiful, in their way. Not everyone had stuck to the Pet Show theme; it wasn’t compulsory, so long as you wore something fetish. But many had. Cats and dogs mostly, though there was one woman in full pony-girl tack, including a small cart, and I’ve no idea how she and her driver had managed to get that up the stairs. A couple of kittens stopped their tussling to hiss at me as I walked past, and I rose to the challenge and barked excitedly in response, causing Dev to tow me away by my collar. As we retreated to the far side of the room, I saw one kitten pin the other and begin to give her a good licking.

  Being surrounded by others with the calling to kink made my heart swell with awe and my sex ache. I could feel my libido slip free of its constraints and start to soar.

  We met another couple we knew quite well. Annie, normally a carefully preened platinum blonde, was all in Dalmatian spots tonight, and she carried a rag rope between her teeth. As our two owners stood and watched, Annie and I had a tug-of-war game with the rope on hands and knees, jumping on each other and mouthing excitedly as we wrestled for the toy. That was fun: naughty fun, what with hands and mouths and bare bodies rubbing all over each other, but just plain childish fun too. There is such a lack of inhibition in being a dog, a simple innocence that still has room for sex. Annie nipped me on the ass until I squealed and rolled over in submission, surrendering her prize.

  Annie’s owner took her away toward the bar, the rope held triumphantly in her mouth, as I sat up panting. At that moment another dog came bowling in on all fours, his leash flying behind him. He bounced up and down around me, tongue lolling and ears flopping wildly, while I tried to stifle my giggles. Unlike me, he wore a tail: a stiff curl that rose from the butt-plug planted between his ass cheeks and waved with every step. I recognized him too; he was a well-known TV comedian. We sometimes get famous faces here, but discretion is also part of the rigid etiquette. Spinning top to tail, he made a show of sniffing my behind. I obliged, as dogs do, standing foursquare and then nudging his flank with my nose. Underneath the pale skin of his belly, his latex codpiece was stretched by his jutting stiffy. I stooped and gave the shiny rubber a little lick—just before Dev pulled me away.

  “Get off!” he ordered, amused. “You filthy dogs!”

  The comedian grinned, panting—and then bounded away as a woman rushed up waving a rolled-up newspaper. “Fido!” she snapped, grabbing his leash and swatting his ass good and hard. He howled in happy self-pity. She looked over her shoulder at Dev. “I’m so sorry! Has he been bothering your bitch? He’s such a bad dog: he won’t obey a word I say!”

  “No problem,” grinned Dev. “Just keep him away from the cats.”

  The naughty dog decided that sounded like a great idea and, spotting the pretty kittens on the far side of the room, set off determinedly toward them, yipping and towing his mistress. I had to cover my mouth with my hand to hide my giggles.

  “Okay,” said Dev. “I think we need to calm down.”

  I tried to look contrite as he led me to a chair in a corner. Sitting, he stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. I took up my customary position straddling his shins, my head on his lap. I love Dev, but when I’m being Princess I love him even more, with a dog’s unstinting trust and devotion. My pussy rested comfortably on the jut of his booted foot, my bare ass pointing at the world. Dev sipped his beer and watched me, his gaze sliding over the curves of my shoulders and waist and butt, over my spread thighs.

  “Thirsty?”

  I nodded. There was no rule against me talking, but silence helped me feel in character. Dev held the plastic glass of water to the level of my mouth and I lapped at it, grateful despite my awkwardness.

  “You enjoying yourself, Princess?”

  I smiled, my eyebrows telegraphing how much wicked fun I was having, and wriggled my bottom against the upper of his boot. The leather felt cool against my warm, wet pussy.

  “Dirty little bitch,” he murmured, pressing up into the concavity of my sex as his fingers tickled my neck and jaw. A chrome boot stud rubbed my clit, and I sighed with pleasure. “You would have let that bad dog lick your ass, wouldn’t you?”

  I shrugged, teasing.

  “You’d have let him mount you, dirty little bitch.” His fingers stroked my throat, making me groan. I could feel the wet I was leaving on his polished leather.

  Yes, maybe I would have. It’s hard to think ahead when you’re a dog; that’s the master’s job. I wasn’t feeling at all responsible right now: I was aroused and completely surrendered to Dev’s caressing fingers and pressing boot. Part of me was aware of the room around me, but only as a setting and a witness to my unashamed pleasure.

  “Maybe I should find you a good stud dog.”

  Heat flooded my cunt, and I opened my eyes wide in alarm.

  “We can probably do better than that silly mongrel.” Dev set aside the drinks and reached to fondle my breasts. “What do you think, Princess?”

  “Oh,” I said, as he tugged my nipples, rolling and pinching them between his fingers. Hot lashes of sensation ran all the way down from his fingertips to my clit.

  “Yes, I think that’s a very good idea. A nice big stud dog to mate with my horny little bitch.”

  I met his gaze, my trepidation undisguised. We’d played with other people at the club, sure: I’d been spanked and scratched, groped and tickled. But that was all. It had never gone all the way. The thought of Dev picking someone to fuck me…

  It made me burn and squirm and recoil and grind my hips. “Which one shall I choose?” he whispered, sending shivers all over my painted skin. My heart was beating so hard he must have been able to feel it against his knee. “Something with a good pedigree. Something strong and fit and eager. With a nice big cock and fat, heavy balls. Something…” He lifted his face, looking out into the room. “What do you think?”

  I craned my neck to see.

  Oh fuck. It was Mistress Freda and her sub, Victor.

  That thought was nearly enough to make me come there and then; a quivering spasm ran through me. Freda and Victor were a couple I’d had a crush on since we joined the club. So did everyone else, I think. They stand out in this crowd because they’re black, but those two would stand out anywhere. They’re both really tall and fiercely beautiful, and this night Freda was wearing a tight, boned pastiche of traditional hunting habit: a precariously low-cut red jacket and a miniature hat and veil, and shiny black boots with heels that could stake a vampire. Her long corn-rowed hair hung down her back in cords as tight and cruel as the lashes of a cat-o’-nine-tails. There was a riding crop holstered at her hip, and we were under no illusions that she knew how to use it. I’ve heard she’s some sort of scary corporate lawyer.

  I’ve no idea what Victor does for a day job, but he’s built with the sort of hyper-real muscles you only see on sportsmen and in rap videos, and
all of it was on show that night. His dress consisted mostly of leather strapping: one of those chest harnesses people put on bull terriers and mastiffs, with the legend “REX” printed down the breastbone, and a set of tack and metal rings around his ass and cock and balls that fully displayed his vital parts, flushed and swollen and ready. A glans-ring completed the “pet” theme: a chain led from it to Freda’s elegant, nonchalant fingers.

  “Whoa!” I moaned, forgetting myself. Dev chuckled.

  It’s not like we know Freda and Victor to talk to. She’s a really haughty domme, and though she will deign to punish other people’s subs sometimes, she plays too rough for most. I like a little recreational spanking, but they’re in another league altogether. Victor likes serious pain. When the Club Night theme was “Pirates,” she’d tied him to a ship’s wheel and whipped his back and ass raw with a leather strap, and he’d taken it without complaint. Groaned, sweated, clenched his teeth, yes—but taken it, and then got down to kiss her toes afterward and thanked her profusely.

  “Hmm?” said Dev pointedly. “Would you like that, Princess?”

  I tore my gaze from the other couple to meet his, biting my lip. My face was burning, my pussy melting. But I didn’t say anything. I desperately wanted him to make the decision. He was the master, not me.

  Dev lifted one eyebrow, and I felt his legs shift beneath me. “Sit, girl.”

  I moved back to sit on my heels, my heart pounding. He stood slowly, watching me with a critical eye.

  “Legs open.”

  Obediently I spread my thighs.

  “Now—stay.” He let the chain leash slip from his hand to hang down between my outthrust breasts. The loop handle brushed my bare and sensitized mons, and I quivered inside. I watched him stroll away toward Mistress Freda, and I swallowed hard, trying to work moisture back into my nervous mouth. It all seemed to have drained down to my sex, which felt swollen and heavy.