Leash Me (Your Pet For The Night) (2 page)

You break the kiss and urgently whisper into my ear. “You’re mine,” you say, “you’re mine,” you say, “don’t you ever forget that!”

I nod and purr in your ear and your hand dives into your pocket. You retrieve the leash and fasten it once again to my collar.

“We’re going back to the hotel,” you say with boiling passion. “I’m sorry but we won’t be able to go to the cocktail bar.”

You tug on my leash and walk quickly away and I am left to follow. Except this time I know where we are going, but still…I
must
follow.

And still, I want to follow.

We walk up to the fancy five star hotel, and burst into the lobby. People are too busy chatting amongst themselves to notice us walk in, even though I am leashed to you.

Even though I am wearing this collar.

We cram ourselves into a lift, our backs against the metal box that swifts us upward and upward. I look at you but you do not look at me. Your breathing is rapid and heavy, and I can see that your trousers are tented.

You are so excited already, and it makes me excited. I bite my lip in anticipation, wondering what is to come.

We get into our hotel room and you slam the door behind you, and you walk me to the bed, and you tell me, “take off your clothes, but leave the collar,” and you turn your back to me and and go and do something else.

I undress myself slowly and efficiently, and fold my clothes and place them at the foot of the bed. I stand there naked in front of you with nothing but my collar around my neck. It takes a while for you to notice that I’m already naked, and when you do a smile flickers briefly across your features. It’s wicked, devilish, even a little scary.

You walk to me and reach past me and gently peel back the covers, and then you take all of the pillows and throw them on the sofa. You say, “lie down,” and so I do, my back flat against the sheet.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, and you turn to look at me.

“Be quiet,” you say, “and don’t move,” you add, and you walk away from me, and I lie there, exposed and naked, for what feels like forever.

But then you return to my great relief, holding something for me, and it takes a moment for my mind to realize what it is.

In your hand are a bunch of small tea light votive candles, and you place them across my whole body, and look at me and smile.

“You must stay very still,” you tell me quietly. “I’m about to place a bowl of wine on your lovely belly. If you spill any of the wine, you will be punished, and don’t think for a moment that it won’t be severely.”

“Okay,” I whisper back to you and you move away from me. You fetch a bowl and fetch the wine and fill it full to the lip. You gently place the bowl of wine atop my naked belly, and then you reach into your pocket and this time you pull out a lighter.

One by one, you light the candles that adorn my body, and one by one the flickers grow, and the heat begins to penetrate me.

The candles are scented with lavender, and their aroma fills the room. And so does their heat, and so does their light, and your shadow is cast around the room.

You watch me for a few more moments while I control my breathing, desperate not to spill the wine, lest I suffer your punishment. And then you reach out and stroke my hair before leaning forward to sip the wine from the bowl until your mouth is full. And then you come toward my face and plant a kiss on my mouth, and I feel the wine flow out of yours and into me as you kiss me.

My whole body stirs at the touch of your lips, and a shiver shoots straight through me. The wine doesn’t spill, but one of the votives does, and I feel the stinging lash of heat from the molten candle wax.

“Don’t move,” you say, you whisper it, and you look down my body. You pick up the piece of wax that has cooled already. “Did that hurt?” you ask me while looking at the wax. I nod my head in response, it hurt, it burned, it stung. “Then don’t move and you won’t spill any more,” you say before grinning, and I nod my head twice again, determined not to spill any.

But another votive leaks its liquid heat onto my skin, and I flinch and squirm uncontrollably as the heat starts burning. I try to stay still, but the heat is too much, the votive is not sat flat!

And then I feel the drop of cool liquid on my belly. The wine has spilled, just a few drops, and it pools around the bowl, and your eyes grow dark, and your expression changes, and you stand up over me.

“You spilled the wine,” you say at me, and your voice is hard and cold, and I flinch again as the candle wax continues to singe me.

You stoop down low and remove the bowl of wine from my belly, and then one by one you take the votives off my shaking body. You place them on the bed beside me and look at me once more, and for a moment our eyes stay locked and I know what is in store.

I swallow hard and close my eyes, and my breathing quickens, and mere moments later I feel the lash of a hot swath of wax. It’s cut across my left breast, right over the nipple, and I open my eyes briefly to see you with another.

You empty the wax onto my chest and up my collar bones, before taking another votive in your hand and drizzling its contents on my pelvis.

The wax, it’s wet and hot and thick, and it leaves my skin on fire, and I can’t help but let out a cry of pain, but also of desire. The molten heat dribbles across the dips and curves of my body, leaving in its wake a line of sensation burning and fuzzy.

I squirm once more as I feel another swath cut into me, and the last votive is emptied onto my naked body.

The pain courses through my body, setting my nerves on fire, and the room it spins, and my forehead beads, and I whimper and moan and whine.

But the wax cools quickly, and my skin stops burning, and I open my eyes to look at you above me.

“You’re punishment is yet to begin,” you say to me severely. The pain from the wax has left me feeling heady and dizzy, and I nod at you and bite my lip and suck in air deeply.

The pain from the candle wax has ignited something within me, and I feel a yearning, a lust, a wanting, growing inside of me.

You reach down and roll me over so that I’m on my belly, and I can feel the last bits of wax soaking into the sheet.

“Stay here,” you say, “don’t you dare move,” and you leave to go get something, and moments later I feel something hard and flat dragged across my body.

And then there is a crack so loud it seems to split the air, and a searing pain makes its presence felt on my left buttock. I scream out loud as you smack me again, knowing you have a paddle, and my skin reacts, raises angry red, and the stinging sends the world spinning.

I wince and tense and ready for the next slap of your paddle, but it never comes and instead I feel your lips on me.

You’re kissing both of my buttocks where you have punished me, and I submit to your tender touch as your hands begin to roam me.

I submit to your tenderness as equally as I had your violence. It’s your duality, the dichotomy of your behavior, of how you are, that compels me.

Eventually you roll me over, and my waxed, red-skinned chest and belly are bared to you. You begin to kiss down along my whole front, from my neck, down my collar bone, over my breasts, down my stomach, eventually stopping at my mound before my sex.

And then you remove my collar, and I have never felt more naked, more bared. You lead me to the bathroom, and you take off your clothes, and we stand naked together and look at one another.

You turn on the shower, and you know it is too hot for my now-sensitive skin. You turn it down to warm, and you lead me into the shower, and water streams over our bodies, and my skin stings angrily, but I do not dislike it.

You bathe me softly, my hair, my body, and you kiss me some more, my mouth, my head, my face, my neck, my breasts, my armpits, my bum, my back, my thighs, my calves, my mound.

“Close your eyes,” you say. “Let me explore you.” And you do, with your hands. They roam over my body, now free of dried wax, and they pause on my nipples and you play with them, pulling at them lightly, just lightly.

You turn me so that I am facing away from you, so that my back is pushed into you. You leave one hand on my left nipple, and your other hand you push down my body, past my pelvis, and in between my thighs.

I have been wet and wanting for so long. I am ready for you, ready for your touch, awaiting your touch.

You caress me gently, rub me in circles just how I like it. You know me, you know where I’m sensitive. I moan softly and you kiss the back of my neck on either side as you tweeze my nipple and rub circles above my swollen, engorged clitoris.

Slowly you begin to enter me, just once or twice every now and then, teasing me painfully, teasing me just how I like it. You don’t push your fingers all the way in. You circle my entrance. You dip in just to the first knuckle and the whisper of sensation is so tantalizing it sends shivers down my spine.

Then you begin to push me away, push my back forward, and I rest my arms against the tiles and push my bum out a little as you pull at my hip.

You bring your hand around me, and begin to slide down my bum, in between my legs. You pause, but not where I expected, and I gasp sharply as you slowly work a finger into me there. I’ve never done that before. I don’t know if I like it.

But I must obey you, and I am to do with as you please.

You slowly push your finger into me, and I concentrate on relaxing. The sensation is strange, new, but not really unpleasant.

You push your finger in deeply, and I know that I’m tight around you, tighter than I could ever be in my other place.

And then you stop, and slowly slide your finger out. You turn me around and kiss me and tell me, “you’ve been a good kitty.” You say to me, “let’s get out of the shower. I want to show you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me tonight.”

And so we get out of the shower and you dry me off with the towel. Your touch is tender and soft and delicate, and you make sure to dry each and every part of my body, so that no visible bead of water is left.

You brush my hair so that it is mirror-flat and smooth, and then you dry it with the dryer, and soon my hair is no longer wet and heavy, but slightly frizzy.

In this time the water has dried off your body, and we’re both smooth-skinned and clean, and you lead me back to the bed, back to where you will show me your appreciation.

You lie me down on the bed, and you slowly pull my legs apart. You kiss me briefly on the mouth, just a hint of tongue to tease me, before you begin to work your way down my body, down to my waiting, wet and wanting place.

And you kiss me there. And you do not stop. The touch of your tongue is electric. The press of your tongue sends me shuddering. You push inside me just a bit, and I whimper and moan and hum in delight.

Slowly you work a finger into me, then two, and you begin to gently rock me back and forth on the sheets. Your tongue still works relentlessly, and you flick my bud, and circle it, and suck on it just the way I like it.

My body relaxes even more, and I let you take me, whisk me away, and my orgasm is already so close, a figure on the horizon that I am racing toward.

It’s been a long night, a wonderful night, and I have been ready and wet and wanting for so long, nearly too long.

Your tongue doesn’t stop. It goes faster and harder.

Your fingers don’t stop. They go faster and harder.

And soon I am squirming as a powerful orgasm rises through me, and my stomach crunches, and my back arches, and I am bathed in bliss, plunged into pleasure, and all I can feel on each of my nerve endings is a kind of ecstasy unmatched, unrivaled. It starts in my sex and spreads outward to my thighs and my belly and I’m moaning and thrashing and writing and squirming on the sheets.

Your mouth is beautiful.

And then I’m panting, and my body slumps, and all I can do is lie with my eyes closed, breathing quickly with my lips parted into a smile.

You stop all your licking, and you slowly slide out your fingers, and then you carpet your tongue against my throbbing, sensitive sex, and you keep it warm and wet and pulsing as you take me down the slowing stream that is the ebb of my climax.

And then you come up next to me, and kiss me on my cheek, and nuzzle up next to my ear and you whisper something to me. But I don’t hear you the first time, and so I ask, “what did you say?”

“You’re mine,” you repeat, echoing yourself. “You’re mine, and only mine.”

And I am replete in the knowledge that I am yours and only yours, that every atom of my being belongs to you, to do with as you wish, to care for as you will.

And it is a shame that we must part, but that is not until tomorrow, and still the night has not ebbed, and still there is lots to be done.

# # #

On behalf of all erotica authors, I would like to thank you for supporting the genre. It is hugely popular, immensely diverse, and is filled with myriad examples of great writing, and yet it is rarely afforded the privilege of shelf space (and in the virtual sense, too!). Your patronage is what allows us to keep doing what we love.

For that, I am eternally grateful.

I hope you enjoyed this story at least as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please feel free to send me feedback in any way, shape, or form.

If you are comfortable doing so, leaving a truthful review (so that means negatives, too!) would not only help me with my craft, but it would also give me direction on what to write next.

Thank you - AG.

Audrey Grace is the pen name of a thirty-something traveler who has followed her father and his job around the world. A rebellious tomboy in her teenage years, Audrey first discovered her love of scribbling smut with an erotic short story written for class when she was fourteen. It was titled
The Erotic Adventures of Hercules
and earned her an appointment with the principal.

Having lived in Australia, Canada, China, Hong Kong, Japan, and the United Kingdom, smut (and traveling) have always been Audrey’s one consistent. Blessed with a hyperactive sex drive, it’s the one thing she just can’t stop doing. Audrey is currently based in Melbourne, Australia, but she won’t stay there for long!