Come, My Pet

by Keira Michelle Telford

  “I heard you had a rather uneventful presentation yesterday.” The Mistress to Coralie’s left pokes for details. “Is Diana preparing another selection for you this evening? You must make your choice by the end of the weekend.”

  “Another mundane parade won’t be necessary,” Coralie replies, meeting Pet’s eyes across the table. “I know what I want.”

  “Is that right?” Isabelle finishes another glass of wine and glares at her, having caught the glance between them.

  Not waiting for a response, she calls over one of the serving staff and demands a bottle of her special wine, the High Council’s traditional elderberry wine being too weak for her taste. Angered that Coralie would dare to so brazenly make eyes at her companion, a fresh glass of booze isn’t in her hand fifteen seconds before she downs it. A few seconds after that, she flops forward, her face smacking into her dinner plate.

  The room falls silent.

  Assuming she’s passed out drunk, no-one does anything.

  A full minute passes.

  Alarmed, Pet doesn’t know where to look. First, she stares at her unmoving Mistress, waiting for her breathing to resume. When that doesn’t happen, she turns to Coralie.

  In that moment, the Mistress beside Coralie lets out a gasp, watching in horror as the glow in Pet’s eyes fades, signaling the expiration of her bond. At a loss for words, the Mistress points a finger at the now petrified companion, drawing everyone’s attention to the ocular change.

  It can only mean one thing.

  Mistress Isabelle is dead.

  Letting a small smile break free, Coralie sets down her knife and fork, dabs at her crimson lips with her napkin, and gets up. Her high heels clacking on the hardwood floor, she rounds the table, her pace slow and certain. When she reaches Pet, she unclips her from the chain attached to her collar, the other end of which is still clamped in Isabelle’s dead fist.

  “Come, my Pet.” Coralie takes Pet by the hand, pulls her to her feet, and leads her around the table without saying another word.

  As they approach her place at the table, Pet breaks away and darts in front of her, pulling the chair out for her, eager to win her appreciation.

  “Thank you, Pet.” Coralie pauses to kiss Pet’s cheek before sitting down.

  That simple act of thanks makes Pet blush uncontrollably. Settling happily into the appropriate spot on the cushion beside her elegant new Mistress, she takes advantage of the closeness now afforded to them and snatches up Coralie’s foot. Unable to help herself, she brings her lips first to the shoe, then the ankle, gradually working her way up Coralie’s leg, her hand following in the path of her mouth.

  No longer required to keep her ministrations below the knee, her kisses keep going till she reaches the hem of Coralie’s dress, whereupon she feels the tickle of Coralie’s fingers on the nape of her neck.

  Encouraged by that, she nudges Coralie’s dress up with her nose, baring the top of her stockings and coming painfully close to exposing her to the room. There, she lays kisses on the soft, pale skin of Coralie’s inner thigh, the pair becoming so wrapped up in one another that neither of them notices when two of the serving staff heave Isabelle’s corpse out of her chair and unceremoniously cart her off for disposal.

  Purring, Pet continues to nuzzle her face in Coralie’s lap, nipping, biting, and kissing, hungering for her peachy skin and what lies above. At first, Coralie doesn’t say a word, her arousal evidenced by her labored breathing, her lust-filled eyes, and the way she drags her fingernails through Pet’s hair, but then …

  “Stop,” she whispers softly, fisting Pet’s mane, breaking her lips away. “You excite me too much,” she explains privately, bending to Pet’s level, pressing her mouth to Pet’s ear. “You’ll make me come.”

  At the head of the table, Mistress Diana clears her throat, diverting Coralie’s focus from her new companion and securing the attention of the group.

  “I take it by that rather shameless display of appetence that you intend to adopt Pet?”

  “I do.” Coralie strokes Pet’s hair. “She’s perfect.”

  Suitably calmed, Pet rests her chin on Coralie’s lap, smiling up at her savior.

  “Then I must ask you to tether her.” Diana resumes her meal. “All companions must be tethered.”

  “Why?” Coralie refuses to comply. “I don’t need a chain to keep Pet near me.”

  “If you wish to claim her for your own, you must exert your authority.”

  “And I must do that by restraining her?” Coralie peers down at Pet. “You know who your new Mistress is, don’t you, Pet? You know who you belong to.”

  “She doesn’t belong to you yet,” another Mistress reminds her from across the table. “Not until you’re bonded.”

  “That won’t take long.” Coralie fusses over Pet, straightening her hair and rubbing her back. “We’re meant to be together. I feel certain of it.”

  “Lucky for you that Mistress Isabelle popped off, then.”

  “Quite.” Coralie smiles sweetly. “And lucky for Pet, too, since Isabelle handled her appallingly. I wouldn’t treat a dog the way she treated Pet.”

  “It’s not for you to criticize others for the way they discipline their companions.”

  “It wasn’t discipline, it was abuse,” Coralie contends. “I will not ever use violence to assert my dominance. I don’t want Pet to fear me, I want her to love me.”

  At that, Pet picks up her head, hardly able to believe those words just came from Coralie’s lips. Love is a word seldom uttered at the High Council table. Companions serve a purpose, like a kettle or a teapot, and their humanity—their need for tenderness and affection—is rarely recognized.

  Ignoring the rumbles of laughter circulating around the room at her expense, Coralie stands by her statement. “I will earn that love, and honor it.” She picks some food off her own plate and hand feeds it to Pet. “Hungry?”

  Pet accepts the food without hesitation, sucking Coralie’s finger into her mouth at the same time, no need for reservation anymore.

  “Oh, you’re such a darling.” Coralie pulls Pet so close that she’s practically draped over her lap. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

  Post-dinner, the Mistresses of the High Council retire to the drawing room for an evening of champagne and bragging. Most use this as an opportunity to show off how well trained their companions are, but Coralie has little interest in competing.

  She’s sprawled on a chaise, her back propped on cushions, and while many other companions are set to work pleasing their Mistresses—whether by rubbing their feet, or performing sexual favors—Pet is curled up alongside her, half on top of her, one arm flung around her waist. She’s sound asleep, her face pressed to Coralie’s abdomen, murmuring every now and again as Coralie massages her scalp.

  “You’re coddling her,” one of the other Mistresses warns Coralie.

  Lying topless on another chaise, her breasts flattened against the velvet upholstery, Mistress Sirena—a curvaceous blonde approaching forty—has her own companion straddling her back, rubbing her shoulders.

  Also topless, the companion’s heavy breasts sway and bounce as she rocks her body back and forth, and Coralie is momentarily hypnotized.

  “Pet deserves to be coddled.” She snaps herself out of it, returning her full attention to her new mate. “She didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  That piques Sirena’s interest. “Last night?”

  “Mistress Isabelle put her out in the hall,” Coralie explains, leaving out the details. “She was sitting there all night, outside my room. Alone.”

  “Perhaps she was being punished.”

  “Or perhaps Isabelle was just a raging bitch.” Coralie slams the door on that topic, leaving no room for discussion.

  “Hmm. Well, whatever the case, Pet’s absolutely besotted with you already. However did you win her over so quickly?” Sirena’s tone carries an edge of suspicion.

  “It wasn’t magic.” Co
ralie feels Pet’s priapus twitch against her leg. “I haven’t done anything but show her affection and kindness.”

  “Affection?” Sirena raises an eyebrow. “You know you can’t make proper use of her until you’re officially bonded. You should be trying to divine her true name right now instead of cavorting with her in front of everyone.”

  “We may not be able to have sex, or touch each other intimately, but that does not preclude affection.” Coralie shifts her leg so that she can feel the full length of Pet’s augmentation brushing up against it. “I will know her true name before the weekend’s out.”

  Sirena snorts, disbelieving. “No-one’s ever secured a natural bond so fast. It can take weeks or months to win the heart of a new companion.”

  “That may be, but I do not intend to be parted from her. I won’t wait until the next gathering before I claim her, you can mark my words.”

  Sirena takes Coralie’s confidence with a pinch of salt. Divining a companion’s true name—the name she was given at birth; a name not uttered since her initiation into the coven—is no easy task, and neither party has any control over when it occurs. It’s a subconscious reflex: an involuntary, psychogenic response signaling the companion’s readiness to surrender themselves completely into the care of another. Only then will her name be known, and only if the Mistress is attuned to it. Unless, of course, you cheat.

  The frustration of being unable to secure a bond gathering after gathering has driven many a good witch to resort to magic, and Sirena has her doubts that Coralie is capable of such patience. They’ve known each other for several years, and spent many a pleasurable time together in the coterie before Sirena’s ascension to the High Council.

  “Don’t kid yourself. You want sex, and you want it now.” She laughs. “I can loan you Brat, if you’d like. She’ll fuck you three ways from Tuesday if I tell her to.”

  “I know.” Coralie smirks at the red-headed companion sat astride Sirena’s back. “We shared her in the coterie before she was yours. Remember?”

  “You hogged her,” Sirena grumbles. “You don’t know how to share.”

  “As I recall”—Coralie challenges her version of events—“you loved to watch.”

  Sirena blushes.”Do you want to play tonight? It’s been a while since you and I have enjoyed each other’s company, and Brat’s hard as a rock already.”

  “I can see that.” Coralie eyes the enormous bulge in Brat’s crotch, her core tingling with the memory of being lanced by that thick pole. Brat’s not particularly long, but her girth …

  “Do you want her to take it out?” Sirena watches the lust build in Coralie’s face, her chest flushed with excitement.

  It’s not uncommon for Mistresses to share companions at these gatherings. Sometimes it’s a straight swap for the evening, sometimes it’s a foursome, and sometimes even the junior Mistresses are invited along to play. In fact, it’s become standard practice among the High Council for the older Mistresses to watch their companions fuck the younger women, and Coralie was always high up on the list of invitees.

  Her lack of inhibitions coupled with her enthusiasm for being gawked at made her an ideal candidate. As an added bonus, it quickly became apparent that there was very little she wouldn’t do in the pursuit of pleasure.

  But that was the past, and Coralie turns away from the view in front of her, removing temptation from her field of vision. “No, I don’t want her to take it out,” she answers at last, a trace of regret in her voice. “I want to wait for Pet.”

  Sirena giggles, amused by Coralie’s rather uncharacteristic devotion and the outrageous notion of voluntarily going without sex. “Suit yourself.”

  “I always do.” Coralie winks. “But it’s getting late. We should be going to bed.”

  “We?” Sirena doesn’t try to hide her surprise. “You’re taking her to bed? What for?”

  “More affection.” Coralie tickles Pet’s nose with her fingertip. “Wakey-wakey, darling.”

  Pet stirs, yawns, and stretches, writhing on Coralie like a cat. While her arms are lifted over her head, Coralie swoops in and pulls her upward, manipulating her ninety-five pound frame with ease.

  “Are you ready to call it a night?” She cradles Pet in her arm, smiling down at her.

  Feeling playful, she tickles Pet’s ribs, making her giggle and squeal, her limbs flailing and jerking, hearty laughter erupting.

  All eyes fix on them, and as Pet becomes conscious of a change in the atmosphere of the room, she hushes herself, the disapproving glares of the other Mistresses causing her to retreat into the safety of Coralie’s embrace.

  “Ignore them,” Coralie whispers in her ear. “They’re just jealous.” She slips her arms around Pet’s tiny waist, lifting her off the chaise and planting her on her feet. “Come now.” She leads Pet to the door. “Our bed awaits.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At Coralie’s bedroom door, Pet comes to a dead stop, digging in her heels as Coralie tries to drag her over the threshold.

  “I want you with me, silly.” Coralie chuckles, coaxing her forward, assuming her reluctance is due to some deeply ingrained low expectations.

  But that’s not it at all. Pet looks around at the remnants of last night’s excitement. Cleaners have washed the floor and Coralie’s bedroom door, but missed the sticky sheen on the flowers in the vase. Not knowing of any better way to explain herself, she plucks the head off a milt-coated rose and hands it to Coralie.

  Eyeing the crusty petals, Coralie does her best to translate.

  “Are you worried that you’ll become too aroused?” She tucks the strong-smelling flower into her hair. “Or you think I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?” She pulls Pet into the room and kicks the door closed. “I know the rules, love. I know them inside out and back to front, and they’re very explicit.” She steers Pet over to the bed, a fire already roaring in the hearth. “There’s nothing whatsoever to dictate that we cannot undress for one another, or embrace. I can kiss you anywhere but your lips and … well, any of the other obvious places. I can touch myself, you can watch, and we can attain shared relief—as you already know. We must use our imaginations, Pet. That’s all.”

  Coralie takes a step back, allowing Pet’s eyes to roam her body.

  “Would you like to undress me?” she asks, lifting her hair up and out of the way.

  Her hands shaking, Pet wipes her clammy palms off on her pants and moves behind Coralie, fumbling with the zipper on her dress. After several stops and starts, she manages to peel it all the way down to the small of Coralie’s back, baring her snowy skin.

  No bra.

  No panties.

  Pet’s anatomy reacts predictably and her jeans tighten. Taking her time, she walks her fingers over Coralie’s perfect skin, feeling the dimples at the bottom of her spine, following the curve of her back upwards to the nape of her neck.

  Completing her circuit around Coralie she stands but a few inches away and slips the dress off her shoulders, lowering it to reveal two full, firm breasts. Glued to them, she’s paralyzed, leaving Coralie to take over the removing of her own dress, wriggling it over her hips and letting it drop to the floor around her feet.

  Indeed, Pet’s so entranced by Coralie’s full nudity that she temporarily forgets to be embarrassed about her arousal, her hefty priapus threatening to break free from her pants. Of course, when Coralie unintentionally snaps Pet out of her reverie by licking her lips and emitting a faint whimper of yearning, Pet covers her groin with her hands.

  “There’s no need to be shy.” Coralie pries her paws away. “From what I’ve seen so far, you look exceedingly well-endowed.”

  It’s true. Given Pet’s small stature, her augmentation appears disproportionately huge.

  “I’ll bet that’s why Mistress Isabelle chose you,” Coralie says without thinking, Pet’s arousal noticeably wilting at the first mention of her former bond.

  “You know why I chose you?” She brushes Pet’s bangs a
way from her forehead, trying to restore her excitement. “Your beautiful eyes.” She holds Pet’s gaze. “I can’t wait until they burn for me as they once burned for her.”

  Just then, a gust of cool wind howls down the chimney, making Coralie shiver, reminding her of her nudity, goose bumps pricking her flesh.

  “Would you fetch me a negligee?” She directs Pet to an antique armoire in the corner of the room. “Any one will do.”

  Pet opens the heavy oak door, coming face to face with more silk and lace undergarments than she’s ever seen. Not knowing where to begin, she glances over her shoulder, hoping for guidance, but Coralie offers her none.

  “You pick,” she insists. “You’ll be the one enjoying it, after all.”

  Her heart thrumming, Pet flicks through Coralie’s wide assortment of nightclothes, bypassing any that fall below the knee and ultimately selecting a pink babydoll nightdress. Decadently translucent, the sheer, mesh-like material is accented with lace frills around the hem, and boasts a deep V-shaped neckline with narrow straps. Looking from Coralie’s full bosom to the tiny scrap of fabric in her hands, Pet has trouble envisioning how it could ever contain her.

  Coralie giggles. “If you’re wondering how it manages to cover everything up, the answer is: it doesn’t.” She holds her hand out to receive it, and slips it over her head with a flourish.

  Her breasts stretch out the bust, the narrow straps just wide enough to conceal her nipples and areolae, leaving the rest of her bosom exposed.

  “Your turn,” she declares then, grinning as she sits down on the edge of the bed facing Pet. “Will you take your clothes off now?”

  Again struggling to control her trembling fingers, Pet undoes the first few buttons of her shirt, then catches sight of a purple, shoe-shaped bruise on her breast bone and stops. Ashamed of the marks on her body, she holds the shirt closed, fearful that Coralie will find her unappealing.

  Glimpsing the perceived imperfection that Pet’s so anxiously trying to keep hidden, Coralie takes action.