A jolt of hot pleasure rolls up his spine, and James’s entire body stiffens with the shock of it. It’s so sudden, he can’t even gasp. All he can do to bear the treachery of his ass clenching around the dog-tail vibrator inside of him—as if constant pressure against his prostate isn’t merely enough—is to curl his fingers into the fluff of his dog bed until the knuckles turn white, screw his eyes shut, and press his forehead against the bars of his cage.
Angelina’s on her way back from the club, he knows. And so, he must hold it in. Even as his balls draw up into his body, even as a thin string of sticky pre-cum connects his twitching cock to his pet bed, James cannot come. He cannot come without permission. He cannot dirty his bed. He cannot…
Someone opens the front door to Angelina’s apartment, and James recognizes her by the sound of her heels as she ambles… not towards him. A steady gait moves to the kitchen, and there’s some shuffling through drawers. A paper bag ruffles. The door to the microwave opens and closes, and the timer is set. Then, the footsteps approach, and James presses himself closer to the front of his cage. The door isn’t locked, but for him to undo the clasp just isn’t the same as Angelina undoing it.
The bedroom door hinges open, and Angelina stands just beyond the threshold, still dressed in a tight little skirt and blouse. How it is that no man has thought to claim her yet is beyond him, but then he supposes there simply hadn’t been another willing to submit.
“Did you wait like a good boy?” Behind the facade of her saccharine sweet words, James knows another spat with Mickey has left her exhausted.
Tonight is not the night for him to be difficult with her, so he moves away from the door to his cage as she comes closer, squeezes his balls between his thighs, and whines in greeting when she reaches in with a slender hand. He shivers as perfectly manicured nails tickle the underside of his chin. “Come, pet,” she says, and James crawls out from the cage on all fours, the soft fur sticking out of his ass whispering against the back of his thighs. His legs tremble, and with each step he takes, the toy nudges naughtily against this bundle of nerves deep inside of him. He could almost cry.
Angelina snaps the leash to the collar around his neck and gives it an experimental tug. “Look at me.” James obeys, and then she’s down on one knee, in front of him, the one end of his leash loosely looped around her wrist while she rearranges the tightness and position of his collar so it squeezes his Adam’s apple just enough that he won’t be able to forget he’s wearing it.
Every swallow, every inhale, and even the act of lowering his head—which he does the moment Angelina is back up on her feet—become a reminder of his position, his submission, his nakedness, his need …
Angelina tugs on his leash again, and James follows behind her. He’s thankful for the leisurely pace she sets as she leads them to the bathroom because the hardwood flooring and tiles bruise his knees, and the vibrator keeps rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. The tail end of the vibrator brushes back and forth, back and forth, back and forth against the ham of his thighs, ghosting deliciously over his taint, and teasing his balls with the soft, cool fibres barely reaching between his legs.
When he looks down at the floor beneath his, there are faint lines of glistening wetness trailing behind him and, somewhere in the back of his mind, he hopes his Mistress will force him to clean it up… with his tongue. The mental image doesn’t help his weeping cock, just the same as the constant brush of his own soft inner thighs against the swollen head serves only to aggravate his arousal.
Before he can think much more about his predicament, however, Angelina has him rising to his feet, until he towers almost three inches above her—thank god for her heels. He’s in front of the toilet, his cock leaking on the seat, when his Mistress gestures. “Do your business, pup.”
James’s bladder clenches reflexively, but… he can’t pee. Not like this. Not with the vibrator in his ass. Not with an erection. So he blinks dumbly at her, unsure now what to do.
A few seconds go by like an eternity before Angelina decides he isn’t reacting fast enough to her liking and reaches around to the front of him. Soft fingers wrap around his length and stroke… slowly… languidly… James gasps. His knees buckle and he slams his hands onto the wall in front of him to keep himself from crumbling right there. Just then, Angelina’s front undulates against his back, against his ass, and the toy presses into him at just that perfect angle that has his ears ringing and his nerves singing with the zing of—
“ O-ooh, god! Uuhn! A-A… Angie—aaahh! ” His orgasm comes in quick spurts, powerful and bright. His whole body shakes, and he’s sure he’s collapsed… but when his lungs fill up again, and he chokes on a broken moan, and he blinks through the tears, he’s only bent at an angle with his knees spreading wide of their own volition. And then, there’s Angelina’s hand squeezing, not jerking, his spend from his cock.
“Oh, James…” she tuts, disappointed with him.
His orgasm suddenly feels cheap. He didn’t deserve it, hadn’t worked for it. Even so, she continues to rub his cock in time with the lazy pace his rocking hips have set for him. At first, it’s perfect like this, with Angelina pressing up against his back so he can fuck himself on the vibrator while her hand works his cock, but then… it’s too much.
“A-Angie… please,” James whines just as Angelina brings her fingers to the base of his cock. Then, the grip turns vice-like, wrenching a pained hiss out of his mouth. When the pressure around his cock doesn’t relent, he throws her an imploring look over his shoulder.
“None of those puppy-dog eyes, James,” she tells him, guiltless. “You wanted this. You know the rules, and you know what happens when you break them.”
He does, indeed, but it doesn’t change the fact that… god, but it hurts. And he’s tempted to disobey, to be difficult and force his Mistress’s tender hand. Instead, James whimpers, the sound so dog-like, even he’s impressed with himself. Angelina isn’t immediately satisfied, however, so he gives her a series of puppy-dog whines, and then her grip loosens and his relief is almost more discomforting than the pain itself.
Angelina strokes gentle shapes between his belly button and his cock, and her lips brush the shell of his ears. James can feel the smear of her crimson pout on his flesh. Then, “Now, pup… Do your business.”
James doesn’t argue with her. He wants to obey and pee on command, but his cock is still softening. His task is only further complicated when Angelina’s hand returns to his half-hard prick, although now she only holds him so he doesn’t dirty the seat; he’s already cummed all over it.
After closing his eyes, and taking several deep breaths, he gets a small stream going. He has to squeeze his lower belly and give a couple of pushes, but he’s done it. Right?
“Good. Very good, pup.”
Angelina doesn’t force him to clean his come from the seat, nor does she make him lick the tacky trail of clear fluid, his own fluids, on their way to the kitchen. While she goes about preparing a plate for herself—and a bowl for him—James has to wait by the counter, near the pantry and the trash can.
His knees hurt a little when they come upon the tiled kitchen floors, and he tries to swing the weight of his body from one leg to the next in the hopes of alleviating the mild discomfort to no such luck. The movement only pulls on the tail end of the vibrator, which then jostles slightly from side to side. He’s already oversensitive, the extra stimulation is unwelcomed. So he settled to bear the bite in his knees.
When she’s done reheating their food, she comes to him and picks his leash up from the floor. “Take it,” Angelina says, but before he can react, she adds, “With your mouth.” Of course. He opened his mouth for her to put the loop between his teeth.
Lithe fingers brush through his hair, brushing back the few strands that stubbornly stick out over his forehead. Then, they’re moving again. Both of Angelina’s hands are full, one with her plate and the other with his bowl, and James bites down on the leash, but his collar tugs tightly around his throat. She walks. Her heels tack-tack-tack over the floor. And with each step she takes, the collar pulls-pulls-pulls at his neck, forcing him to follow on pure instinct alone.
Angelina sits them in the living room, with her on the sofa, and him on the floor, at her feet. She sets his bowl down in front of his hands. He’s oddly fascinated with the way his hands are balled into fists, his fingers curling into his palms. They almost look… paw-like. At the brisk snap of fingers, his eyes flitter up and refocus instantly.
“You’re not going to eat?” she asks rhetorically. He knows she expects him to eat, but when he looks down…
Chinese fried rice.
She’s even shredded the spare ribs so he wouldn’t have to use his hands because puppies don’t use their hands to eat. “You’re the one who wanted this, pet. Now you’re trying to tell me you’re not hungry?”
Admittedly, he is hungry, and the food looks good, and it smells good, and he can feel the heat rising from it, yet still he whimpers when he looks up at his Mistress. She harumpfs and sets her plate and fork down onto the coffee table. Then, as a glimmer of excitement blooms in James’s loins, she lifts her heeled foot and brings the point down into his bowl. It scrapes unceremoniously across the ground.
“Come eat, pup.” She slaps the top of her thigh three times.
James hesitates to slip his body between her spread legs and the table. Even as she opens them—his eyes instinctively drift up her skirt until he mentally scolds himself—the space between her and the table is scant, and he doubts it will accommodate him appropriately. But, somehow, he squeezes himself between his thighs, at which point…
Angelina yanks down on James’s leash, which earns her a surprised yip out of him as his chin touches steaming hot rice. The scent of food, savoury mixed with sweet, stops his breath short for a single excruciatingly long second while she holds him there.
Then, the pressure against the back of his neck, the tightness around his throat vanishes, and his trembling lips touch the grains, and his cheek brushes the stiletto.
It’s good, he supposes. It’s Chinese food. Who doesn’t like Chinese food? But James doesn’t exactly taste the food he has to scoop into his mouth with his tongue. Angelina hasn’t lifted her heel out of her bowl and, after a brief, awkward moment, he realises she fully intends to force him to eat around the point of her shoe. Even so, his cheek swipes along the smooth edge of her foot as he shovels another bite of food into his mouth. Then, as the heat spreads across his face to his ears, he licks up along the inner arch before curling his tongue around the thin point of the heel when it drops back into his bowl. Now he isn’t sure whether he’s expected to eat or if he’s to clean Angelina’s shoe.
“Good. Very good, James.”
James startles when Angelina’s hand falls over the back of his head and… strokes. Gently. Softly. No pressure, just a warm sensation making his scalp tingle where her hand lands. It trickles down to the base of his skull, and then down to the base of his spine.
He shouldn’t be getting hard from mere praise for debasing himself like this, but he can’t help the way his cock twitches with each murmur, “Good. Very. Very. Good. You’re going to be good for me tonight, aren’t you? You’ll let me do whatever I want with you, won’t you?”
At that moment, he’s compelled to look up and Angelina doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t skirt away from his gaze even when he swipes his tongue across his lower lip to clean the sticky mess of sweet and sour sauce—he’s got some on his cheek and he considers licking that too, but ultimately decides the back of his hand will be more appropriate in front of his Mistress. She holds his stare, no anger, no irritation, simply watches with maybe some intrigue when… the corners of that crimson pout twitch upwards.
Angelina’s pleased with him, a notion which has the pit of his belly fluttering, and he can’t stop himself from turning his head to the side until his lips touch the warm, smooth flesh of her inner thigh. A reverent kiss. Just a small one that’ll mean nothing once he leaves her apartment and goes back home. But then, there’s another, and a third as he inches his way up towards her skirt.
James can feel the moist heat of her centre as he draws closer to her when, suddenly, his head jerks without his meaning to. There are fingers, rounded nails, digging into his cheek, and he blinks up into dark, blown-out pupils that devour him whole.
“Have I told you you could do that, pet?” Angelina asks, her voice tight, although he doesn’t get the sense that he’s being scolded exactly.
James whimpers, pleads with his eyes. Just a little… Just for a bit…
With her free hand, she gives him a light smack on the forehead. It’s not hard enough to leave him disgruntled, let alone hurt, but it does bring a whine out of him. “Don’t, James,” she says, cautioning him. “Don’t start being bad. I’ll put you in timeout.”
No! James almost speaks his protest, but Angelina holds a finger up to silence him the moment his lips come apart. His teeth clink like metal in his head when he closes his mouth. Another whimper. His Mistress arches a brow in warning. And, at length, James contents himself with laying his chin down in her lap while she digs into her meal.
The television drones in the background, something on the news James can’t be bothered to pay attention to. He rests his cheek against Angelina’s thigh, his eyes flitting between the swell of her nethers to the underside of her breasts looming over him. She’s crouched to eat, and the curve of her back looks uncomfortable, or at least awkward. It’s because of him, he knows she’s trying to accommodate him and his body. He wants to move out of her way so his Mistress can eat properly, but then she holds a chunk of spare rib meat in front of his face and he takes it onto his tongue.
At length, Angelina decides she’s had enough, and she clears their dishes. When she comes back from the kitchen, James rises on his knees, which she clearly disapproves of by the way she tuts at him. She slumps back down onto the couch, touches his cheek, and he puts both of his balled fists on each side of her, climbs over her, and nuzzles the crook of her neck. If his tail could wag now…
“James!” There’s a giggle, and then a dull sting yanking at the back of his head—it’s his Mistress’s hand tangled up in his hair. Angelina doesn’t look angry, though she tries to sound stern. “You incorrigible, you know that?”
He whimpers, chastised, and leans into her neck before she can push him back. Her skin’s soft, supple, and he feels the heat pulsing along with the beating of her heart against his lips. The temptation to bite is almost too much to deny himself the pleasure of at least dragging the edge of his teeth along the vein. There’s still a hint of her perfume that lingers bitterly on his tongue, but he doesn’t mind it. Angelina sighs against his ear. Her fingers twist a handful of his hair, and he thinks she might tug him off again, but then the grip softens.
James is so painfully hard now, and another bead of clear fluid gathers at the tip as his cock strains between his legs. He rolls his hips against the sofa, where his cock grinds between the coarse upholstery and his body—it’s not pleasurable, but it eases the edge of his need a little.
“James…” Angelina breathes. Gooseflesh breaks across her skin when he suckles the point of her pulse. She gives a soft chuckle when she adds, “If they saw you the way I do… You don’t show anyone else this side of you, do you?”
He comes away from his Mistress’s throat without complaint when she pushes him back to kiss his forehead, near the hairline. Then his eyes. His nose. Angelina doesn’t kiss his mouth, although he takes the liberty to return her affectionate touches by licking the subtle line of her jaw. Her eyes scorch him then, and he knows without being told that he should lower himself between her legs. Still, he waits until Angelina commands him:
“Make me come, pup.”
James follows the downward push easily as he slides down between her legs. His fingers brush the outside of her thighs until he reaches the hem of her skirt, which is pushed up only enough to accommodate his face while he kisses a devout trail along her inner thighs.
Angelina’s scent hits his nostrils, the heat emanating from her mound a lascivious caress against his face, and the rush of arousal clears his mind. All he can smell is her. His Mistress’s musk. And then, all he can taste is her. His Mistress’s silken panties, which are slightly imbued with a mild sweat enriched by the warmth of her centre, with only a trace of a sweet wetness that encourages James to lap and suck at. She shuffles a little, skirt riding up, spreads her legs a little wider, and pushes her body closer towards the edge so he can take all of her.
There’s a moment where James is content with using his tongue and teeth to tease Angelina through the thin fabric of her underwear, but then his cock rubs against the top of his Mistress’s foot. His breath catches—or maybe it was Angelina who shuddered just now. His eyelids flutter. And he slips his hand beneath the skirt to pull down at the strings crossing over Angelina’s hips and bear her to his tongue.
Her hands curl in his hair when he licks a long, wet strip through her, down to her entrance, and then back up. She’s mostly bare, freshly so it seems with only a downward heart-shape of shorn, soft curls to aborn the pubis mound which tickle the tip of his nose whenever he comes up.
“ Awh… yes, ” Angelina purrs.
James closes his lips over her clitoris and hums until Angelina gasps, and he has to hold her hips before she jerks away from his face. Her back bows, her body ripples, while he blows against her flesh and flicks his tongue between her moist folds.
“Look at me.” Her fingers push away his hair just as he looks through a curtain of his own eyelashes, and he has to wonder: Do I also have fuck-me eyes? Hers are heavy-lidded and dark with want, maybe a little cunning. Is she thinking about how she’ll take him tonight? Will she take him? Angelina strokes the side of his face with her thumb, a hint of a grin pulling at her lips, and she says, “I want to fuck your mouth.”
Shivers skitter across James’s skin. He knows what’s to come, knows what’s expected of him, and so he stiffens his tongue and tries not to grimace when her fingers pull at his hair again. Hard this time. She forces his head back, then forth, angling him exactly how she wants him while she rocks against his tongue. Angelina moans and he tries to blink up at her, to watch as she comes undone, but he catches only a glimpse of her lustful eyes on him before something primal stirs within his core. It scares him, but also entices him, and he chooses to close his eyes until the feeling passes.
His scalp goes numb, his ears ring, and wet heat hits his tongue just as Angelina’s body goes rigid. He doesn’t hear her cry out, but he knows by the natural sweetness of her release that she’s just about spent; all James needs to do now is to come up and suck on her clit for his Mistress to crumble…
“ James—oooh, my g-god! ”
James’s eyelids flutter and his mind swims. He’s not the one who’s just finished—his cock still strains between his thighs, the head now purple-ish with unspent need connected to the floor by a translucent string of fluid—but his body doesn’t seem to care.
Shivers wrack through him in rippling waves.
The muscles in his back give themselves up to light spasms.
And if he’s not the one who’s just finished, then his heart shouldn’t be beating the way it does—like it’s trying to burst from his chest—and his limbs shouldn’t be trembling as they do, but his body doesn’t seem to care.
James can’t pull himself up from between Angelina’s thighs until she touches his jaw, and gently tilts his head up. His tongue pokes out from between his lips and he licks the side of his mouth. The lower half of his face is utterly soaked, but Angelina still draws him close so she can press her lips to his in the most wanton of chaste kisses. A phantom touch. And just like that, before he can reach inside of her mouth with his tongue, she’s moved away.
“Down, James. On all fours like a good pup for me.”
It takes him a second to understand the meaning of her words, but then he’s back on the floor, sitting with his legs folded beneath him and his balled fists between his knees. White-hot pleasure blooms suddenly behind his pelvis when his rear lowers to the floor, which causes the dildo still inside to shift, and his spine goes stiff while sparks go off in his brain. The internal walls of his ass clench around the toy and his cock bobs valiantly, as if to parade his hardness. He whimpers and nuzzles the inside of Angelina’s thigh.
My turn, but the words didn’t have to be spoken. Angelina strokes his cheek, combs his hair back, and scratches the underside of his chin before finally sitting up straight with a low groan. “Alright, pup,” she says, her eyes travel down the length of his front, down, down, down to his jutting cock. “Let me get cleaned up, and then we’ll take care of you.”
James squirms against his bindings, but he can do little save for whimpering when they fail to give. His wrists are tied to the headboard, not by handcuffs, but with the same, soft nylon ropes his Mistress used to bind his legs, which are both bent at the knees and bound to his wrists. He truly cannot move, cannot close his legs to cover up his pathetic manhood, which lays stiff and leaking on his belly, cannot hide his shameful opening as his body contracts and loosens around the dog tail toy.
As if his humiliation isn’t complete enough, Angelina stops beside the bed where he’s bound, and presents him with two choice dildos for the strap-on she wears: one is long and ribbed and flesh-coloured, with a flared head, whereas the purple one trades in some length for a thick bulge at the base that’s sure to leave him feeling full.
James doesn’t want to be the one to choose, yet his eyes still follow the one in her left hand as he whimpers. The sound of his voice is muffled by the gag lodged between his teeth.
Angelina smiles kindly, and, to his dismay—or perhaps his delight—snaps the one in her right hand to the front of the strap-on. “My pup does like to get knotted when he’s being bred.” She pets his cheek with the back of her hand, then his chest, then his nipple, which she pinches and twists sharply to make him wince just a little. It hurts… But his cock bobs and jerks, and his hole clenches around the dildo, and the pain subsides to a vibrant heat that throbs across his chest and spreads outward.
He follows after her with his eyes when she turns her back to put the other extension away. When she comes back to him, he can’t help but stare at the lewd way the silicon cock juts out in front of her. Her fingers brush the ham of his thighs, causing little gooseflesh to break out across his naked skin. She ghosts delicate fingernails over his balls, making them tighten while moans and he tries in vain to jerk away from the ticklish touch.
“Are you going to be a good puppy for me tonight, James?”
He almost answers when her fingers wrap around the base of his cock and… all thoughts flee him. Angelina strokes him lazily with long, deliberate movements, swirling her hands to spread his pre-cum over the head, and then back down. She bends forward, and he feels the feather-light whisper of her hair on each side of his crotch before he feels her smooth lips on the tip of his cock. Her mouth doesn’t open even though he wants her to take him down.
She scoffs when he bucks, tuts him, “Oh, my sweet pup… You’re going to come without having your dick touched tonight.” He whimpers in reply.
The bed dips slightly as Angelina settles behind him and he closes his eyes when he feels the dildo inside of him move; she plays with the tail end, wagging it from side to side, but the welling pressure in his loins isn’t the culprit for the deep scarlet blotching his cheeks, spreading to his ears and down his throat to his shoulders. It’s what he knows is to come—
“Most puppies greet their Masters by wagging their tails,” Angelina notes, feigning hurt. She tugs lightly on his tail, just enough to test the clench of his hole without it slipping out. Then… “Won’t you ever learn to shake your tail for me, James?”
Shake his tail… He could, were his hands not bound above his head and his legs pulled up against his chest, but as it was—James did his best to wiggle his ass.
Angelina didn’t so much laugh as she did huff in that way you would to a child who’d just tried to perform some so-called trick but had failed miserably. Was she trying to be condescending, or did she mean to save him the embarrassment of commenting on his pitiful attempt? “My sweet pup.” She gives his cock a light stroke, tugs gently on his balls, and then grabs a firm hold of the dildo at the base, and works it loose.
There’s a sound that climbs at the back of James’s throat, but it’s stifled by the ball pushing down on his tongue. He pants and shudders as thin fingers course the smooth valley between his asscheeks. Two playful digits circle his entrance, which puckers and clenches with the faintest hint of pressure. Angelina takes her time, teasing him with ghostly touches that set his blood to boiling, until he’s a writhing, whimpering ball of wanton tension. When her fingers finally breach him, only to pull right back out again, he bites down on the gag with enough force that he worries his teeth might shatter.
God, please! Please, please, please!
One digit pushes into him easily enough, and he clamps down on it when it quirks. Almost. So, so close. The touch is just shy of his gland. The second finger tests the tightness of his hole, and he can feel his insides swell with arousal, the need to be touched, to be fucked. James tries to rock his hips back, but the ropes stop him.
“When I first had you like this…” There’s no lube, but the sting is minimal and Angelina’s fingers enter him without too much resistance. She scissors them— apart, together, apart, together —and rubs around his prostate. “You were so tight, I could barely fit a single. Now, though… Your ass takes me so easily. Look.” He groans when a third digit breaches him, making his spine bow. “That’s three fingers without lube, pup. I could fuck you dry if I wanted to, and I bet you’d come all the harder for it, wouldn’t you?”
She does no such thing, however. When her fingers leave him unpleasantly empty, it’s not to further goad him, but to fetch a bottle from the first drawer of her nightstand. Angelina’s once again towering behind him when the cap pops, and there’s a wet squelch before the cold drizzle of lubricant hits the heated flesh of James’s asshole. He starts, bucks, tries to close his legs, but alas, he can only bear it.
“Shhh, pup,” Angelina tells him quietly, a chuckle hidden behind her words, while she forces the lube past his rim. James doesn’t see her lubing the dildo, but when she lines herself up with his ass, and pushes, it slips inside of him with ease.
James’s whole body winds taut as a bow. The dildo invades his passage inch by torturous inch. Gently. Slowly. Even as he wiggles, rough and reckless against his constraints, thrusting himself back on the length slowly, oh-so slowly , filling him, Angelina remains firmly out of reach of his incessant and needy little pleas. She pets his belly, her slick fingers tickling the sensitive skin above his belly button, and then up, up, up until they wrap around his throat and squeeze .
Angelina’s hips press against his ass, her silicone cock fully sheathed inside of him now, and it feels like the tip’s just struck his diaphragm. He can’t breathe, but he doesn’t know whether he should blame the dildo spreading him open, or the gentle hand gripping him by the throat, just below his collar. James gives her a fleeting look, but then his Mistress’s body rocks flush against his.
The toy presses just a little bit deeper into him, jostles ever-so-slightly against that part of him that makes him see stars, curl his toes, and arch his back. And he wants more.
“Oh, come on, James,” Angelina tuts him before he even realizes that he’s glaring at her. Glaring! He’s glaring at his Mistress. At Angelina. “You said you’d be a good boy for me tonight, and good boys shouldn’t be greedy. You know that.”
James keens and lets his eyes flutter shut.
“There, there. Shhh…” Angelina’s hips pull back just the scantest of bit, and then she’s filling him again with a steady roll of her hips. “Have I ever been a bad Mistress to you?” He wants to nod, if only to spite her, but… it isn’t right for him to lie.
James shakes his head, and Angelina’s next thrust comes a little harder, a little faster, making him shake all over. She caresses his cheek while his eyes roll back, runs her nails down over his pectorals—James’s body twitches, nearly curling in on himself, when his Mistress’s nails flick his nipples. Her hand ghosts over his cock, and kneads his ballsack.
“I know you can be good, pup. You’ve always been my good boy.” He pants into the gag while Angelina moves inside of him. In. Out. In. Out. “Grab a hold of the headboard. Good. Now, lift your hips real high for me.”
He does as he’s told and stretches his arms out over his head and grabs hold of the hardwood, although lifting his ass higher requires a considerable amount of core strength, when Angelina suddenly snaps her hips. It punches the air out of James’s lungs, cuts off the gasp that rises in his throat, and has every muscle in his body stiffening. She pauses there, and waits blessedly for the first of his heaving breaths before thrusting into him again.
And with every slam of Angelina’s hips, the heat flowing through James’s veins rushes to his balls, to that place behind his pelvis that swells until it feels like he’s about to burst. Her movements turn fluid, while his voice turns into a sweet, albeit plaintive drawl. The head of the dildo grazes his gland, and the ropes binding his knees up to his chest give a treacherous crackle as he tests the fibres’ hold by trying to close his legs. He need to feel that pressure against his cock, to feel the squeeze on his balls, to feel… something… just a little something more to push him over the edge.
James tries to look at her, at that self-assured smirk, that pleased expression he knows she has only for him when his chest heaves and his back aches from how he arches and how he twists and writhes so that she hits his prostate with every roll of her hips. He wants to see how her throat glistens with perspiration, how that single bead of sweat rolls down the valley of her breasts. He wants to watch her fuck him, but his eyes roll back whenever sparks trail fire across his nerves.
“Does being full of my cock feel good, pup? Are you going to come like my good boy?” Angelina’s thrusts deepen and slow, becoming deliberate, when she says this. James groans in frustration. He’s vibrating on the need to come, come, come…
“Are you close?” she asks.
Even though James suspects she already knows the answer to her question—if the way his cock leaks like a faucet and twitches on his belly is anything to go by—he nods again, more fervently this time. He pushes against the headboard with trembling arms, and squirms in an attempt to urge Angelina to keep fucking me—god, fuck! His balls feel too full, taut, and his cock aches for a release she won’t permit him. If she could just touch him!
The headboard slams against the wall as the pace quickens and Angelina starts fucking him in earnest. If he were self-conscious, or possessed with half of his usual thinking capabilities, he might spare a thought for the neighbours. But he doesn’t, and neither does his Mistress.
“You’ll come on my cock, won’t you?” Angelina says, each word punctuated by a sharp, powerful snap of her hips.
James thinks—wants to say—that he needs more than her cock up his ass to come, but then his whole body shakes with an onslaught of blinging pleasure. His eyes flutter as he kicks his head back, his skin breaks out in goosebumps, and his toes curl. The air in his lungs stalls and it’s not until he can blink his eyes open once more that he notices how his mind swims with the lack of oxygen. And then it happens again. His vision goes white, his body rigid, his mind utterly and blissfully blank. His sudden and brief inability to breathe only bothers him when his heart kicks desperately in his chest.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, amidst the rumblings of pleasure being pounded into him, he finds enough mindfulness to shake his head in reply to Angelina’s question. Then, there’s a voice in his ear, in his head, “Come for me, James.”
James is only aware of the hand tracing tiny circles over his belly when the pressure in his loins explodes and makes everything go white. His spine seizes with electrical pulses that travel straight up to his brain, and his ass clamps down hard around the silicone cock, as if to suck Angelina deeper into him. His balls pull up, and the very next moment, white hot spend sprays his chest. He twitches hard with each spurt as small tortured noises rise in his throat.
As soon as he comes, Angelina wraps her hand around his length and pumps him dry. She fucks him at the same time, hard and fast, matching her pace to the way James’s cock shoots, until… nothing comes out anymore. She squeezes the shaft, swirls her hand on the upwards stroke, but all she draws from him are strangled sobs and spams.
At length, she relents and James goes limp.
He’s boneless and panting when Angelina stills completely, the dildo snug inside of him. She pets his cheek, but the touch feels sticky and too much—his nerves being oversensitive in the afterglow—so he tosses his head from side-to-side.
Breathing’s never felt like a luxury to him outside of Angelina’s apartment. It comes easy, naturally. Here, it’s earned, a gift of sorts.
Hands lift his head, which he protests with a whimper, but then the ball between his teeth comes away and a dull soreness spreads in his cheeks. James closes his mouth, swallows, bites down hard, and then licks a wet stripe across dry teeth. When he has the sense to gulp down on some much needed air, his breath sounds more like a hiccup. Somehow, Angelina’s pulled out of him without his noticing, and she now unties his legs. His knees scream at their newfound freedom, but James doesn’t curl up. He just lays there…
With his eyes closed, James tries to recentre himself by breathing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. His heartbeat pounds away in his ears, but he’s no longer heaving. Then, a warm, wet rag falls over his thigh, startling him into looking down at… his Mistress… cleaning him up. Angelina’s eyes catch his and her lips quirk into a small smile.
“You can lay back down, pup,” she tells him, but… for some reason which he can’t exactly pinpoint, those words unnerve him.
James sits up much too fast, causing the room to spin around him, but he has to get up still. And so, he does. Even as Angelina follows after him, her hands around his arm to keep him from swaying when he stands on weak legs.
She’s not holding him back, but still he feels her touch constricts him.
“James, wait.” Where are his pants? Where did he put his pants? Not on top of the dog cage. Not on the dresser. Not in the dresser. “James, sit.” His body jerks, as if pulled by two equal forces in two different directions, and he turns to scowl at her. Sit? Sit where? “Come here, James,” she leads him back to the bed, sits him on the edge, kneels before him, “It’s late.”
“Mhm. I wanna go home,” James croaks, and why does his voice sound so unfamiliar? It’s not his normal voice, he decides. He looks at the door, then at the closet. His clothes are in the closet, he remembers, and stands to go. Angelina catches his arm.
“You don’t always have to go back home, you know?”
“I know,” he says. “But I sleep better in my own bed.”
Angelina gives him a tired look of disbelief. It’s just as well! Why would she believe him when even he doesn’t believe himself?
“You’re always so quick to jump out of it… Stay here tonight. Until you calm down. I can change the sheets, you can take a bath… Are you hungry?” She looks serious, a little sullen, but determined. James doesn’t know how to rebuff her politely and, if he’s to be honest, he’s actually exhausted. Wired, but exhausted. His blood boils, but his limbs are full of lead.
James licks his lips. “O… Okay,” a whisper. “Alright… I’ll stay.” It does feel kind of good to say those words, he supposes. As if he’s wanted somewhere. James isn’t hungry, and stewing in a tub doesn’t exactly sound appealing, but—his eyes catch sight of his body’s sweaty outline on the green sheets.
“I’ll change the sheets,” Angelina says knowingly. “Can you sit for me, please? Just stay here a while longer. I’ll let you go in a bit.”
James is on the bed again, on the very edge of it. His ass feels sore, he finally notices, but it’s not so unpleasant that he can’t wait for Angelina to return with a fresh set of clean sheets—grey, this time—before he starts fidgeting. Once the sheets are changed, Angelina sits propped up against the headboard and lights herself a cigarette. She pats the bed next to her for James to come and… he obeys. On all fours. He can’t help it. He must go to her when she calls him. It’s the pressure around his neck reminding him.
He swallows and it says, Good pups come when called.
He swallows and it says, Good pups want to be petted.
He swallows and it says… Pups lie besides their master.
James blinks up as Angelina’s hand passes across his vision again—her fingers tickle his cheek, then his ear. He tilts his head when she gets to his neck and sighs contentedly when they ghost along the edge of his collar. She huffs a wisp of smoke.
He swallows and, “Good pup. Very good.”
His chest rumbles.
“You’re always in such a hurry. It’s nice when you slow down, isn’t it?” She scratches the back of his neck, and the pressure around his throat is suddenly gone. Angelina holds his collar so he can see it before setting it down on the bedside table. The next time his Adam’s apple moves, there’s a pang of disappointment that wells in his chest. But James breathes admittedly easier, and Angelina’s fingers feel good around his neck. So he let’s the wears of the day weigh him down and closes his eyes.