Page 56 of The Boss' Pet

Insane or not, broken or not, he is nevertheless Marcus fucking Waterstone, and I have crossed him. Part of me wants to whimper like a frightened pup, lower my body close to the ground, and offer my belly in some effort to appease him. Another part of me wants to bite him, defend myself against him. But in the end, I have no choice but to obey.

I feel him lift the hem of my dress, sweeping it away as far as he can under the circumstances—those circumstances being the plug in my ass still very much attached to the tail.

He doesn’t need my ass though. He wants a different hole bared for his use—and he gets it.

I feel cooler air on my pussy, playing over my lips which are already wet. I wish I did not get aroused every time I am afraid and ashamed, but Marcus has trained me like a literal dog My desire is now a Pavlovian response to being punished.

“Look at this,” he says, bending down to run his fingers across my slit. He lifts them, gleaming, to the audience. “She likes this. She likes being caught and displayed.”

I gnaw on the gag, wishing he would show me something akin to mercy. But that’s not the point of this. The point of this is to draw it all out and make me feel every drop of shame that he is capable of making me feel.

“Fuck her!” A voice calls out from the crowd. It is a solitary voice at first, but it is quickly joined by a chorus of other voices calling for the same thing. These people want to see me take his cock. They want me to be used for their pleasure.

Marcus is not one to disappoint his audience.

He goes to his knees behind me, and I hear the sound of his zipper going down—only briefly, because the moment they see that he intends to do what they want, a huge cheer goes up for him.

I feel him grip my neck with his teeth as he leans over me. The feeling of his bite on my skin makes a shiver of excitement run through me. This is incredibly primal, even though we’re in this ostensibly refined place. No matter how rich these people are, or how powerful they are, there’s no denying that they are filthy animals, too.

Marcus’ cock presses against my pussy, and he pushes in slowly and deliberately. In spite of everything, I let out a moan through the gag. It will never not feel good for him to fuck me. My inner walls wrap around him tightly, gripping him, wanting him. He’s right. I am absolutely soaked with arousal. I think the fear is making me flood with desire.

He fucks me on the floor in front of everybody, his thick cock sluicing mercilessly in and out of my soaking wet pussy. Much of the crowd has started to lose interest now, moving on with their own conversations, drinks, snacks, and kinky play.

For some reason I cannot understand, that makes this all that much hotter.

It’s one thing to be put on sexual display, but it is something else to be ignored while I am half-naked, my dress off my shoulders, breasts exposed, tail still wagging against his belly as he pounds me. This should be impossible to look away from, but they are looking away. I am just another pet being put to good and proper use by her master.

“Come for me,” he commands. “Show everybody how you like to be fucked.”

His words alone would nearly be enough to put me over the edge, but matched with the sensation of being pounded on the floor like a literal animal, my pussy being used for my master’s pleasure, my subjugation turned into display, it was getting to be overwhelming fast.

“Come,” he insists again, reaching underneath me to rub my soaked clit. His fingers strum hard, demanding. I am not going to be allowed to avoid climaxing. He is going to force me to orgasm, and there is nothing I can do except exactly as he says.

My first orgasm is intense. With the rubbing of his fingers and the stroking of his cock, and the eyes of the crowd, and the way I have absolutely no choice whatsoever—I feel my knees go out from under me as I lose voluntary control of my muscles, turning into a squirming, writhing animal whose pussy is desperately trying to milk her mate.

Marcus

“What a good girl,” I praise, using all of my willpower not to flood her with my come just yet. I follow her down to the ground where she is wriggling, her hips and ass high in an effort to keep my dick inside her.

She feels like heaven. She is molten hot, and her inner walls are gripping me with animal desperation. She might not like being on display like this, but all she really wants is to be filled with my come.

She has become everything I wanted her to be. She has become my possession. She has become my obsession. And she has become my cock hungry little pup.

I pop the tail out of her, rip the dress, and push the tip of my cock deep into her gaping ass. The plug did its job. It loosened her up.

“Lube!” I call the word out not unlike a surgeon demanding a scalpel.

Lube is passed to me, and I drop several dollops of the stuff around my cock so as I push deeper inside her, she gets the benefit of it. I want to be cruel, but I don’t want to be insane. I don’t want to damage her permanently. This tight little ass is going to be fucked often.

I hear the tenor of her moans changing as she takes my cock in a hole less designed for her immediate gratification and more intended for her degradation.

“That’s right, pet,” I murmur in her ear. “Every part of you is going to remain mine after this. Tomorrow you’re going to wake up, knowing that all your hot little holes are at my disposal. The day after that, you’ll wake up knowing the same thing. You are mine for the rest of your life, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.”

I feel her shudder with excitement as I thrust my cock deeper inside her, sliding home, balls deep inside her ass. Charlie groans incoherently, grinding her hips like the good girl she is. She wants to come, but she can’t like this. There’s not enough pressure on her clit. So she has to stay like this—wet, desperate, submissive, waiting for me to finish with her asshole, and maybe if she is lucky, turn my attention back to her desperate clitoris. I reach around to pull the gag from her mouth, letting it fall to the floor.

“Please,” she moans.

She’s begging for mercy. Or maybe she’s begging for more.

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