Bound by Lust (3 page)

“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.

He spoke to her. I watched the confident tilt of his shoulders and the easy nod of his head, gesturing back at me. I couldn't help admiring the sweep of his long kilt and the dull gleam of the rubber. Victor—or Rex—was kneeling quietly at his mistress's side, his neck turned so that he could look up at her with calm
devotion. The light glistened on his muscled chest: he was a Rottweiler among toy poodles. When she glanced over at me, a sharp sweet pain contracted inside my belly. I dropped my gaze to the floorboards, too shy to meet hers.

Oh god. They were coming over. All three of them.

“Here she is,” said Dev. How could he sound so calm?

“Hh,” she grunted. “Kneel up straight.” Obediently I hauled my ass clear of my heels. The floorboards felt hard beneath my knees. She hunkered down directly in front of me, and a casual tug upon the cock-chain of her pet brought him to his knees at her side. My vision was blurred, but I could see the morello cherry glisten of her lips and the swing and bob of his turgid length. She smelled expensive and wonderful. Slipping a hand between my parted thighs, she explored my pussy. Her nails were frighteningly long, but she was delicate, for which I was grateful as her fingers slithered over my swollen folds, paddling in the slick juiciness within. I was so wet that it was seeping down the insides of my legs. When she stroked my clit with one fingertip, a charge shot through me, and I couldn't help whimpering.

“Yes, I think you're right: your bitch
is
in heat.” Withdrawing her hand, Freda held it up, glistening with my wetness. Her nails were painted in red-and-black tiger stripes. Apex predator. “Luckily for her I have the solution here.”

Victor sniffed her proffered fingers, then licked them slowly and lovingly. I could feel my thighs starting to shake.

“What do you think, Rex?” she purred. We all looked at him. His answer was a great big piratical grin aimed straight at me. My heart crashed wildly. I turned to Dev for reassurance, cuddling up to his leg.

“She's a bit nervous, I'm afraid.” He cupped my throat with one hand and fondled my tit with the other.

“Young bitches often are, at first.” Freda's smirk was wicked. “She'll learn to love it. Shall we?”

“Come on, Princess.” Dev urged me to my feet and led me to the center of the room. There's a broad bench there, padded in red leatherette: a seat sometimes, but often a stage for whatever club members choose to display in public. I heard the room grow quieter as I climbed upon it, onto hands and knees, and Dev coaxed my thighs a little apart and my head up like I was Best of Breed at Crufts Dog Show.

“My dirty little bitch,” he murmured hoarsely, stooping to rub his face against mine. “Oh you dirty girl, you wonderful dirty girl.”