by Regine Abel
“Nice outfit, but it will not do for tonight. You will wear this,” Anton said, extending a small box I hadn’t noticed he was holding. “I will leave it to your discretion whether to wear black stilettos or your knee-high leather boots.”
My stomach knotted. I placed the box on the breakfast table and opened it. After I parted the purple silk paper, my heart dropped. Within, a black leather bustier and matching leather thong sat next to a fluffy cat tail butt plug with a small bottle of lube. My lips parted in shock. I looked up at Anton, disbelieving. He held my stare, waiting for me to argue. When I said nothing, he gestured for me to get on with it.
I complied.
Under different circumstances, I would be excited by this outfit. It looked ridiculously sexy on me, especially with the stilettos I settled on as they made my legs look infinite. I didn’t even mind the butt plug. Marcus loved anal, so I’d done that rodeo plenty of times before. A bit of roleplaying also had its own appeal. Riding Anton while wagging a fluffy tail might be fun. However, tonight I would attend the biggest event on Venus Hive. All the A-listers would be there. I expected to make a grand entrance on the arm of the big boss, as a peer to the elite. Instead, I would trail behind as a pet. Tears of humiliation pricked my eyes.
Sheila would no doubt be there, looking down on me along with everyone else. They would wonder how I went from sharing lunch with Anton as his companion at Risqué to being his leashed animal. This was not the type of attention I craved.
Anton’s eyes roamed over me, assessing. Closing the distance between us, he pulled out the pins in my hair, ruining the elaborate do I had spent hours perfecting. My hair cascaded down my back and he nodded in approval.
He bent me over the silky covers of the bed. Although my pet cushion was comfortable, this bed was ridiculously soft. Anton covered two fingers in lube before probing my ass. I forced myself to relax. This was the most intimate touch I had gotten from him in three days. But even then, it felt mechanical. His fingers pulled out followed seconds later by the pressure of the plug pushing its way in. It was thicker than I realized and slightly burned going in. I whimpered. To my surprise, Anton’s rough hand caressed my ass soothingly. After giving me a moment to adjust, he pushed the plug in and out of my tight hole a few times before pushing it all the way in to the stopper.
He helped me back up and stepped into the bathroom to wash his hands. I felt full, but not in an unpleasant way. On instinct, I turned to the mirror to look at my tail. It was humiliating but I couldn’t deny I looked insanely hot. I’d fuck myself looking like that.
I could tell Anton thought so too. His shaft strained against his pants. Under different circumstances, I would have playfully helped him with this problem. Right now, however, I just wanted to claw at his face for the cage, this outfit, and his plans for me tonight. He pulled a small object out of his pocket before lifting it before me.
A leather collar.
“You’ve got to be shitting me?” I whispered.
“Lift your hair,” Anton said, his voice frigid.
“Anton—”
“Lift your fucking hair,” he snapped.
Pressing my lips together, I did as ordered. He tied the collar around my neck. I heard it click into place. Under different circumstances, I might have been in awe of the collar. Leather repoussé technique had been used on the dark material. Intricate tribal patterns were raised along its length and the embedded amber colored gems matched my eyes. In the middle, a large gem hid the hook for the leash. Anton ran his fingers the length of the collar, a strange look on his face.
His eyes locked with mine then lowered to my lips. Before I knew what happened, he kissed me. My lips parted on their own, welcoming his tongue. I could taste the brandy on his breath as he deepened the kiss. His hand slipped between my legs, pushed the thong aside and dipped inside my pussy. I moaned as wetness pooled within my core.
Anton pushed me against the wall while freeing his shaft from its confinement. Putting his hand beneath my ass, he lifted me up against the wall and rammed his cock home in one swift movement. Being unprepared, it hurt going in. His mouth swallowed my shout. With the butt plug in my rear, I felt full to bursting. Anton fucked me hard and fast, his thick cock grazing my sweet spot with every stroke. I thought my spine would split open from the blinding orgasm that ripped through me. Seconds later, he grunted his own release in my ear. Rubbing his face against my neck, he whispered my name so softly I almost missed it.
He kept me pressed against the wall. His face was buried in the crook of my neck while we both came down from our high. My legs wrapped around his narrow waist, my fingers weaved into his long hair, I rested my face against his. This was the most intimate embrace we’d ever shared, savoring each other’s closeness in the aftermath. Anton never held me after sex. A beat later, I felt him pulling away and instinctively tightened my arms around him.
Without thinking, I pressed my lips to his ears and words tumbled out of my mouth.
“Don’t let your friends fuck me.”
I felt him stiffen against me, then he tried to push me away. I tightened my hold with both legs and arms.
“They’ll tear me apart, Anton. They’re too big. They’ll kill me. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll suck them off if you ask me. But don’t let them fuck me. Just you. Please… Please, Anton. Just you.”
I felt the tension bleed out of him as I spoke. Relaxing my hold slightly, I turned my face so our eyes connected. His were unreadable but contained none of the frequent cold glimmers.
“Obey me, without delay, without hesitation, and no harm will come to you. Embarrass me or humiliate me, and whatever you may fear from my friends will be nothing in comparison to what I’ll do to you. Is that understood?”
“I won’t, Anton. I promise. But please, just you, ok? Just you.”
He stared at me for a while. I would have given anything to know what was going through his mind. The way he whispered my name sent shivers up my spine. It gave me hope. Deep down, Anton cared for me. It might be twisted and torn in places, but I could see it. I needed to capitalize on that to survive the next six months. He made as if to kiss me then changed his mind.
Anton pulled out of me and put me down on my feet. I leaned against the wall for support. He went into the bathroom to fix himself. On his way out, he paused in front of me.
“Clean yourself up, then meet me in front. Be quick.”
I nodded, watching his retreating back.
“Anton,” I said as he opened the door. He looked at me over his shoulder. “Whatever I’ve done that’s made you angry with me, I’m sorry.”
Emotions flickered over his face, too quick for me to identify. “No, Grace. You’re not sorry yet,” he said. “But you’re starting to be.”
Speechless, I watched him walk out and close the door behind him.
* * *
Sade wasn’t the over the top, dark and creepy extravaganza I expected. I thought to find the usual red, black or purple walls, chains and shackles dangling from the ceiling, crosses, benches and flogger racks. None of the usual paraphernalia made an appearance. The octagonal entrance gleamed with granite-looking light beige and gold flooring. The tiled walls shimmered with a slightly lighter shade of beige. At the center of each wall, a white-stone entrance led to one of the various fetish themes of the club. They were easily identified by the symbols around the doorways: roleplaying, BDSM, pet playground, voyeurs/exhibitionists, swingers, and orgies. In the center of the hall, dancers and contortionists in skimpy outfits performed an erotic ballet on a circular stage. All along the walls, in the periphery, elevated daises provided cushioned booths and tables for VIP patrons.
Once again, I was out of my depth. My whole life, I’d trudged from one dive to the next, thinking I was climbing the ladder. More glitz, bigger lights, flashier neon always meant better to me. Looking at the understated elegance of this place, and all the others Anton had taken me to, it finally sank in that what I used to call glamou
r was vulgar. ‘Less is more’ and ‘quality over quantity’ started to make sense.
The women’s dresses were anything but innocent. Yet, looking at them, no one would even consider grabbing their asses, flicking a lecherous tongue at them or asking them if they’d like a quick romp in a back alley. That was reserved for girls like me.
Half of these women were powerful entrepreneurs, wealthy intellectuals, or famous artists who had achieved success on their own merit. Them, I admired and envied. The other half were bitches who had fucked their way to the top. I wasn’t even a tenth the slut they were, and still, because of my own dumb choices, I would never command the respect they received.
Interestingly, barely anyone wore leather. For some reason, I assumed everyone would. Goes to show how clueless I was about the lifestyle. Those who did, or wore role-play costumes, hid them under an over-garment they discarded at the entrance of their chosen section.
I tried to keep my head high and my expression neutral as we weaved through the throngs. Anton mostly ignored me except to make sure the thin golden chain that served as my leash didn’t get stuck or tangled anywhere while he led me around after him. Four times we needed to stop for Anton’s sycophants to suck up to him. Among them, Ms. Braddock, the owner of Aphrodite’s Vault.
I was mortified.
She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow when she noticed my outfit, her eyes following my tail. She seemed at a loss as to how to address me, if at all. You were not supposed to talk to a pet without its master’s consent. Not even ten days ago, she unfurled the red carpet for me. Anton treated me like his girlfriend, spending millions of credits to give me a whole new wardrobe. From the look on her face, she wondered if we were merely roleplaying or if I got demoted. No doubt, Ms. Braddock had expected to see me rocking one of her finest gowns tonight. Instead, here I stood in leather underwear with a fluffy cat tail up my ass. At least, Anton spared me the cat ears. I’m not sure which one of us was more uncomfortable. I put on a brave face as if it was normal but was grateful when she quickly excused herself.
We were stopped many more times before we reached Anton’s reserved alcove. While he talked, I let my eyes roam over the crowd. It was during one of those stops that I identified which booth belonged to Anton. The four massive Braxians sitting on the couches within were impossible to miss. My fearful gasp didn’t go unnoticed. Anton followed my gaze, recognized his friends and gave me an unreadable look. He opened his mouth to say something to me.
“Anton!” Caleb called out before Anton could say a word. Cutting through the crowd, he made his way to us, Sheila hanging on his arm.
Fuck.
“Caleb,” Anton replied, shaking his hand. He nodded at Sheila who blew him a kiss.
Bitch.
Caleb Jennings owned Risqué and a couple of lesser venues in the Commons. He was ridiculously handsome, lithe and well-toned. With his piercing blue eyes, short curly dark brown hair, a noble nose and elegant thin lips, Caleb was the type of man I usually went for. Except, I didn’t like that fucker one bit. There was something slimy about him. While there was no proof, rumor had it that his women didn’t have a good time and were in no condition to speak of it when he was done with them. Marcus made it a point to keep me far away from Caleb whenever he dropped by the Commons looking for a ‘companion’ to entertain him.
“What a lovely pet you have there,” Caleb said, his eyes slowly examining me. “I didn’t know you were into that.”
Anton turned slightly to look at me. I hoped the subdued lighting would hide the heat creeping into my cheeks at Sheila’s smirk. A light pull on the golden leash made me step forward, closer to him. Anton wrapped his arm around me, his warm hand resting on my ass. It felt comforting.
“What is anyone ever really into?” Anton said. “Sade boasts it can fulfill any fetish or fantasy. I can’t think of a better place for Grace and me to discover what pleases us.”
“Ah, experimenting then,” Caleb said, giving me an assessing look.
Sheila narrowed her eyes. I didn’t know if it had been intentional or not, but with those words, Anton turned my humiliation into consensual kinky role-play. I wanted to hug him in gratitude. Anton replied with a non-committal smile.
“And what else do you intend to experiment with, Mr. Myers?” Sheila asked, shifting slightly so the slit of her dress parted, exposing the entire length of her stunning leg. “I hear they’ve been extremely creative in the swingers’ section.”
I barely managed to swallow the shocked gasp that almost escaped me. Could the tramp be any more obvious?
Caleb chuckled. “Ah yes, they’ve got much to keep a couple entertained. If you were so inclined, I would gladly take care of your pet while you explore that section with Sheila.”
My heart stopped. I didn’t want that bitch anywhere near Anton. But worse, I did not want Caleb ‘taking care’ of me. Whether or not the rumors were true, the man gave me the creeps. I tried to school my features, but couldn’t help a wary glance at Anton.
“A tempting offer,” Anton said, his thumb caressing the curve of my ass. “One I must decline, however. I have no doubt, Caleb, that you will have no problem finding a trade partner with such a delightful woman on your arm,” Anton said, bowing his head at Sheila, “but I am quite set on discovering the kinks of my own delectable companion tonight. Maybe another time.”
Sheila smiled but I could see the venom in her eyes. Though I knew better, I couldn’t help casting a triumphant smirk her way as Anton lead me to our booth, and the Braxian delegation.
CHAPTER 7
Anton
The tension oozing out of Grace was palpable as we approached my booth. My ‘friends’ ogled her with lust-filled expressions. Not for the first time since leaving the penthouse, I berated myself for making her wear that outfit. She looked stunning. The dark leather accentuated the narrow curve of her hips and cupped her perky tits. And that tail… that damn tail fluttering this way and that with every step, drawing every eye to her perfect ass. I wanted to rip it out and bury my cock in her tight hole instead. And I would… soon. But all her beauty was meant for my eyes only. Grace was mine. Yet, here I was, like a fucking idiot, exposing her assets to every bastard on the station. I was doing exactly what I’d told her was wrong about her clothing choices.
Fucking moron…
And Caleb… I would never let that sick fuck anywhere near Grace. He’d maim her, scar the hell out of that perfect creamy skin like he had poor Evelyn. The bastard liked cutting girls with flawless skins, then fucking and whipping them while they bled to create blood splatter art.
Art my ass.
By the time he’d been done with Evelyn, not an inch of her body or face had been spared. She’d gone into shock from blood loss. The cuts performed with a slightly heated scalpel left horrible scars that no amount of surgery could fix. The poor girl was so broken she took her life. I knew Caleb still indulged in his sick games but took the girls off station, outside of my jurisdiction.
Grace’s obvious reluctance to go with him both surprised and pleased me. She liked pretty men. I expected her to be dripping wet for him. Maybe she had better survival instincts than I gave her credit for.
We climbed the stairs to the booth and I once again cursed myself for her outfit. It was meant to humiliate her as she had humiliated me six years ago. And yet, Sheila’s mocking smile spurred me to protect Grace rather than twist the knife further. I rubbed my hand over my face. I was fucking pathetic. Maybe the purebloods were right, and I was just a weak mutt.
These six months were meant to punish her and regain my honor. But here I was, panting after her like a lovesick puppy. Even now, I ached to drag her back home and fuck her into next week. The way she felt around my cock when I took her against the wall… I had wanted to stay in her embrace forever. Six years living among humans softened me. Now that I possessed the object of my obsession, I needed to cure myself of my weakness.
I saluted my guests as they rose to gree
t me. The leader of the Veelan Clan, Pattel, was a respectable, older Braxian. Unlike most Braxians, he promoted peace over violence. Sitting next to him was Gerwin, the firstborn son of the Caldes Clan leader. I hated that bastard. He was a bully and wielded his clan’s status and power like a whip over those he considered inferior. As a mixed-breed, I was his favorite target. Toran and Jarvis were Gerwin’s bitches. Both also firstborn sons of their respective clan leader, they followed Gerwin’s lead in all things.
As the firstborn son of my own clan leader, I should have become my father’s heir. But a mutt, a half-breed, couldn’t become more than a servant or a slave. Women, who were viewed as property and broodmares on Braxia, received more respect than one of tainted blood. Gerwin made sure to remind me of it on a regular basis. However, despite my lack of status, my achievements and failures all reflected on my clan. Entertaining the Braxian elite elevated the prestige of my clan, and so I suffered their presence even though I fucking hated it.
Today, though, was special. They weren’t simply my guests as part of my clan duty, but as witnesses and participants to Grace’s punishment as I reclaimed my trampled honor. I sat across from my guests on the burgundy leather love seat. Grace settled at my feet on a padded cushion.
“We thank you once again, Anton, for your generous invitation,” Pattel said, his eyes gliding over Grace before resting on me.
“My pleasure, Elder Pattel,” I said, my smile gracious. “They’ve promised quite the spectacle tonight.”
A taunting grin flickered across Gerwin’s face. “Indeed, very considerate of you, Myers.”
I gritted my teeth at the slight. Myers was my mother’s name. As a half-breed, I wasn’t allowed to bear my father’s name. You only called someone by their last name to indicate they were strangers, of lesser rank or as a mark of contempt. He was baiting me, hoping I’d challenge him to fight so he could prove his physical superiority. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.