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Playing for Keeps

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Mallory circles around the perimeter of the room and soaks in the atmosphere of the club.

As her eyes adjust to the dim lighting, she recognizes Zoe and Madison in the throng of bodies out on the dance floor and raises a polite hand in greeting. Madison waves for her to join them but Mallory declines with a shake of her head. It’s been ages since she's had the opportunity to put this much effort into her appearance. She’d hate to ruin the effect of her outfit—a liquid latex halter and pants combo—with sweaty grinding. 

It’s been a busy few months at work getting ready for Mardi Gras. Mallory, along with 25 other florists, has been contracted by the city to supply fresh flowers for the 5+ parades that will be kicking off on Friday. Between long days sourcing suppliers and hours spent in the backroom of her shop, Gold Crown Flowers, Mallory’s hardly had time to sleep let alone indulge her kinks. Coming to Fox & Hare tonight feels like a needed breath of fresh air. 

Seeking the real action, Mallory makes her way past the dance floor to the exhibition areas.

She notices another familiar face loitering just outside of the first play ring and smirks, taking in his festive attire.

Tip toeing in her high heels [read not well], Mallory sneaks up on Kai and lands a playful swat on his leather covered ass. Kai jerks his head away from the scene that he’s monitoring—a sub is tied over the top of a barrel and two Doms are spit-roasting her—and shoots Mallory a look that would kill lesser mortals.

Recognition dawns in his expression as his eyes roam her features. The icy glare melts. 

“Well, well, well,” Kai says, a genuine smile curving his lips. “Long time no see. I thought that you up and forgot about us, Howell.”

Mallory laughs. “I couldn't stay away any longer. A reliable source told me that the sexiest dungeon monitors in the Big Easy would be flashing some serious thigh tonight.” She eyes the way that Kai’s leather kilt accentuates his ass-sets and licks her lips flirtatiously. “Remind me to thank Miriam for the uniform change.”

“Christ," Kai swears, crossing his arms over his tattooed chest. "Did she seriously put those pictures of Chet and I in the newsletter? We’re supposed to be authority figures not wank fodder.”

“Don’t even pretend to be mad!” Mallory tells him, backing away to continue exploring. “You love being objectified, you dirty slut.”

Kai barks a laugh and flips her the bird, turning back to the ring. Mallory just reaches the end of the corridor when she hears Kai shout her name.

She pauses, expression curious, and he says, “I forgot to tell you that Miriam’s kid is back from Stanford. He just turned twenty-one. She set him loose tonight, so keep an eye out in case he gets himself into any trouble.”

Mallory gives Kai her best heel click and salute and slips around the corner.

She casts her gaze around the next play area, searching for any sign of Miriam’s kid, and realizes that she doesn’t even know what to look for. Mallory hasn’t seen Michael since he was a gangly teenager with braces and a serious addiction to eye liner. She’d just moved to New Orleans and started coming to Fox & Hare the summer before he shipped off to San Francisco for college. That was four years ago. 

Mallory recalls the shy smile that Michael gave her the night that they were introduced and feels an uncharacteristic blush heat her cheeks. Fuck, but he was cute. He had stumbled over her name, unsure if he should call her Ms. or Mistress.

A fond sigh slips past her lips at the memory. Alright Moaning Myrtle, Mallory thinks, that's enough reminiscing. Shaking her head, she shifts her attention to the scene that's unfolding in the middle of the room.

Growling. Tussling. Tails. Bingo.

Mallory's definitely found something that's her flavour. 

A Domme, Coco, is leading her puppy Mutt around the padded floor by a leash. Her other two pups, Jeff and Wilhemina, are grappling on the far side of the ring. Wilhemina looks about three seconds away from pinning Jeff and having her way with the erection swinging between his legs. 

The silver studs on Mutt's collar flash as he finishes his promenade. When Coco stops, he waits at her feet and wiggles his butt excitedly, eager for her next direction. Mallory can just see the way that his hole is stretched, pink and shiny, around the wide silicone plug at the base of his puppy tail.

Coco pets the leather ears attached to Mutt’s full face muzzle and orders him to sit pretty. Mutt whimpers around his gag and sits back on his heels, batting his paws in the air. "Good boy!" Coco tells him. In reward, she pulls a small remote out of her cleavage and  presumably activates the vibrating feature on his plug.

Mutt falls forward on his forearms and howls.

All around Mallory, other dominants and their pets watch, riveted, as Coco edges Mutt with different pulsations of the toy in his ass. In the midst of Mutt's torture, Wilhemina succeeds in sucking Jeff's cock down her throat. 

What feels like hours but is actually twenty minutes later, Coco gives Mutt permission to mount a large plush duck and hump his way to completion.

Something inside of Mallory aches with longing at the way that Coco gentles her pup after his release. It’s been years since she’s met a pet that she wanted to keep.

She's played with puppies, bunnies, fawns and even a pony—never again, the pony play community here is intense—but none of those subs felt right.

Someone taps her on the shoulder and Mallory turns her head to see Cordelia, Miriam’s business partner, smiling at her nervously. “Mal,” Cordelia says, “I’m sorry to interrupt but I was wondering if I could ask you for a favour?”

“Hi, it’s good to see you!” Mallory says, tugging Cordelia into a brief hug. "Of course you can ask me a favour. You put me on the list for the door tonight on short notice.” They separate and Mallory keeps one of Cordelia's hands to squeeze between her own. "Seriously, Delia, whatever you need."

Cordelia squeezes back and gusts out a sigh. “One of the Doms in our pet adoption program backed out at the last minute, so I’ve got a sub waiting in a private room without a partner,” she tells Mallory.

Mallory nods, filling in the blanks. “You want to know if I’ll step in?”

Cordelia deflates, clearly relieved that Mallory’s on the same page. “I know that it’s a lot to ask, but you’ve already been vetted for the program and your kinks are very similar. This sub is new to the Scene and I’d hate for their hopes to be dashed so early.”

Mallory nods again and dimples at her reassuringly. “If you think that we’re a match I’d be happy to help. I didn’t have anything planned for tonight anyway. ”

A wide smile breaks out across Cordelia’s face. “I knew that you were the right person to ask.”

Before Mallory can renege, Cordelia yanks on her hands and leads her off down a hallway to the private rooms. She drops Mallory outside of a door marked with a brass number three and says, perfunct, “you have the room for the rest of the night, so no rush. Take your time and enjoy. This room has running water and a tub but no toilet. The bathroom is across the hall if you need it.” She fidgets then, anxious like she knows something that Mallory doesn't.

Mallory quirks a questioning brow but Cordelia just shakes her head, a smile playing around her lips.

Maybe she's worried that I'll break the newbie?

“I'll be gentle,” Mallory tells her.

Cordelia scoffs, amused, and slips Mallory the key to the room. Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she glides away in her five-inch heels, already chattering away to Miriam about some issue or another. Mallory waits until her footsteps fade away before slipping the key into the lock.

She’s never used this particular room before and she’s not sure what to expect of the sub waiting patiently inside. God, I hope that they're not a brat. The last sub that Mallory played with was enough of a nightmare to put her off for several months. She's not a Domme that likes willful defiance. 

Sucking in a fortifying breath, Mallory steels herself for the worst and twists the key. She slips into the room as quiet as she can and closes the door behind her.

An antique chandelier casts a dim glow over the space. The gentle light enhances the storied feel of the exposed brick and wood paneling on the walls. A small sitting area and a clawfoot tub sit at opposite sides of the carved bed in the middle of the room. A chamber pot peeks out from under the bed frame.

The whole effect is like stepping back in time to the 1870s.

The sub is naked already, curled up in a ball and dozing at the end of the bed. Fluffy white ears sit atop a golden head and a matching tail is tied around their trim waist with pink ribbon.

The sound of Mallory’s entry is enough to wake the kitten. They stretch, rolling their broad shoulders and turn over to blink sleepy  eyes at Mallory’s face.

Mallory sways on her feet and tries not to stumble into the dish of water to the left of the door. If possible, the young man in front of her has grown more beautiful with time.

Jesus Christ. He's like a marble statue. 

Michael Langdon peers up at her face and smiles. “Ms. Mallory,” he says, tone genuinely surprised. “Are you my Domme for the night?”

Mallory feels a bit lightheaded. He’s almost too gorgeous to look at. Hooded pools of brilliant blue give way to a straight nose and sharp cheekbones. Plush lips invite her eyes to feast on his generous mouth. Smooth, tan skin stretches across Michael’s chest and down the line of his abdomen. Even his soft cock is aesthetically pleasing, resting like it is against his lean thigh.

Mallory tears her eyes away from Michael’s body and clenches her tingling hands into fists at her sides. She clears her throat, meeting his gaze, and says, “if you’d like me to be.” Her tone is still noticeably husky.

Michael picks at the bedspread with a fingernail. White teeth press into his bottom lip as he thinks it over. “I’ve had a crush on you forever,” he confesses, flushing all the way down to his nipples. “I never thought that I’d actually get the chance to be your sub. So…I’m interested if you are,” he says hopefully, peeking up through the thick fan of his lashes.

Unable to resist any longer, Mallory steps forward to comb her fingers through Michael’s curls. His hair is like silk under her fingertips. “Absolutely,” she breathes, watching Michael’s eyes droop as his mouth gapes with a slight moan.

“Is this your first time, kitten?” Mallory asks him.

Michael nods his confirmation silently, ears bouncing.

“Is there anything in specific that you're wanting tonight?”

Michael furrows his brow, unsure of what to ask for. “Whatever you want," he responds eventually. "I just want to be a good Tom for you."

It’s a start. Mallory rewards him with the scratch of her nails along his jaw and lets him cant his head into her hand.

She taps her thumb against the middle of his bottom lip and hums thoughtfully. “Ground rules, we use the standard colour system. Red means stop; yellow means slow down, I need a minute; green means go. I'm not going to be too strict about the role-play tonight. Don’t be afraid to break character if you need something. This is about you, Micheal. That said, I expect good behaviour. If you’re a bad kitten, you’ll be punished. Understood?”

Michael nods and lets his tongue dart out to lick over the end of Mallory’s thumb. “Yes, Mistress.”

Mallory represses a shiver at the sound of her honorific from his mouth. “Good kitten,” she praises, earning herself a happy little noise from Michael. “Down on the floor now. No laying on the bed unless you’re invited.”

Michael does as he’s told. He slips off of the bed and down onto his hands and knees at Mallory’s feet.

It’s reassuring to see that he automatically knows to keep his hands fisted like paws. This might be Micheal's first time, but it’s clear that he’s done some research.

Micheal butts his head into Mallory’s calf, seeking contact, and rubs his flank up against her. His spine curves beautifully into the hand that she runs up the middle of his back.

Mallory looks over into the sitting area and notices that Michael's brought a few toys with him into the room.

Excellent, she thinks. He needs some time explore and get used to his pet-space before they venture into anything else tonight. She wants him nice and relaxed before she puts him through his paces. And I want to try out that tub.

“Why don’t you go play with your ribbon for a while, baby,” Mallory encourages him. “Mistress is going to take a bath.”

Michael mewls softly in response and crawls over to the foot of the upholstered chair where his shiny blue ribbon had been tossed.

The movement of his haunches has his pretty white tail swishing back and forth against the backs of his thighs. Mallory gets a little glimpse between the cheeks of his ass and sees the handle of a metal plug snugged up tight against his rim. Naughty kitten. Somebody came prepared.

Mallory makes a low noise in her throat and spins around to start filling up the tub before she pounces on him. Water running and temperature adjusted, she adds a few pumps of the lavender bath bubbles that have been supplied and works on stripping herself out of her clothes.

With effort, she works her tight pants down her thighs and over her ankles and throws them to the side. Rising out of her bent position, Mallory stands there for a moment, naked, and revels in the feel of cool air against her skin. The ends of her hair tickle along her back and breasts, raising goose-bumps. Awareness that she's being watched has her looking over her shoulder.

Michael’s sprawled on his back on the floor, neck twisted toward her with one knee curled into his chest. He’s got one end of the blue ribbon clenched in his paws and the other between his teeth. He gnaws at the strip as he stares at her, cock stirring and stiffening up into an impressive erection.

“Such a pretty kitten,” Mallory coos at him.

Not wanting to distract Michael from his play any further, Mallory steps forward and climbs into the tub. She keeps her hair out of the water as she settles into the porcelain at her back, throwing the long waves over of the lip. The warmth of the water is instantly soothing. Mallory feels her shoulders unknot and sighs in relief, her eyes falling closed. It’s hard work fussing with elaborate arrangements in the backroom of her shop.

A jingling noise lets Mallory know that Michael’s moved on from chewing at his ribbon to chasing his tennis ball. She slits her eyes, lips curving up indulgently, and watches him romp around the floor. Michael grows less tentative and more unselfconscious by the minute. His movements change gradually and then all at once, becoming more fluid, as he gets used to crawling around on all fours.

It’s possible that Mallory drifts off. One minute she’s listening to Michael slurp water from the dish by the door and the next she’s blinking her eyes open to the feel of snuffled breaths and kitten licks against the side of her face.


Michael’s having the fucking time of his life.

He’d been a little apprehensive on his way to the club, worried about looking awkward or making an ass of himself, but he’s been looking forward to this moment since he was seventeen years old.

The summer before Michael left for college, his mother let him sit around in her office and practice balancing the books while she dealt with things in the club. He'd always liked numbers and planned on being an accountant.

Michael behaved himself—for the most part—but curiosity got the best of him when he was on his way back from the bathroom one night. Instead of returning to the office, Michael peeked around the corner to one of the play areas and saw the woman of his dreams leading a man in a dog mask around by a leash.  

Mallory Howell, Michael found out later, was a Domme with an interest in pet-play. He’d watched her strap the guy on the leash to a funny looking bench and shove a ten-inch dildo up his ass. After the guy came screaming, Michael waddled his way back to the bathroom, confused and horny, to tug one out.

He’d thought that he’d been subtle with his questions to his mother, but the next time that they showed up at the club, Miriam marched him right up to Mallory and demanded that he introduce himself so that he’d “quit moping around and obsessing like a creepy bastard.”

Michael spoke to Mallory a total of three times before he left for Stanford but she left a lasting impression.

He fucked around in his first few years of college, experimenting with a variety of people, and discovered that—surprise, surprise—he has a preference for not-so vanilla sex.

Pet play is something that Michael's researched extensively by himself. He’s never been much of a dog person, so he was happy to learn that role-play is not limited to dog personas. He went as far as purchasing his kitten ears and tail before he hit a roadblock.

Joining the Scene in San Francisco felt wrong. Michael’s mother had told him too many horror stories about lax dungeon monitors and non-existent screening policies for him to feel safe at any place other than Fox & Hare.

Keeping his pet-play dreams on hold sucked ass, but Michael trudged through the remainder of his schooling with renewed  determination to finish his courses and return to New Orleans.

And the wait was worth it.  

Miriam picked him up at the airport two weeks ago and mentioned the new pet adoption program on the drive home. They'd always been open about her work, so it wasn't unusual for her to update him about the club's various offerings.

Heart beating wildly in his chest, Michael had waited a solid five minutes before stuttering out a request for an application form as his twenty-first birthday gift. His mother had agreed easily enough, and they’d lapsed into companionable silence.

Three miles later, Miriam had abruptly stated that Mallory still frequented the club. The mortified look on Michael’s face had had her cackling wildly and jerking the steering wheel while he yelled at her to “watch the Goddamn road, you nosy bitch.”

Mallory’s appearance in Michael’s private room tonight can’t be a coincidence. Madame Mead didn’t raise a fool. Still, he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  

Definitely fucking not

The sight of Mallory standing in the doorway, looking like a take no prisoners Domme in liquid latex, had nearly melted Michael’s brain. Muscles clenching deliciously around the plug in his ass, it took all of his discipline to stay on the bed instead of throwing himself at her feet and begging for a chance to be her sub.

It's been incredibly freeing crawling around on the floor for Mallory. Michael hasn't ever felt this in tune with his body. Once he got over himself, it was easy to adopt the primal mannerisms of a cat.

Being a kitten is thirsty work. Michael swats his tennis ball across the room and meanders over to the metal dish that he’d seen by the door. It’s weird sticking his face down and lapping at the water, but he gets the hang of it on the fourth or fifth try.

Licking stray droplets off of his lips, Michael sits back on his heels and looks over at Mallory.

His Domme has almost sunk all the way down into her lavender bubbles. The soft snore that she lets out has Michael itching to investigate.

Moving silently, Michael scoots over and puts his paws up on the side of the tub. He peers down at Mallory and feels his cock, having flagged to half-mast during his playtime, perk back up. 

Bubbles drift slowly on the surface of the water and give him tantalizing peeks of Mallory’s pert breasts, her soft belly and her sex. Michael wants to reach out and touch but that’s not what good kittens do.

Leaning down, he gently bumps his nose into Mallory’s cheek and sniffles at her skin. Floral musk assaults his senses. Michael whuffs, the behaviour more jungle cat than tabby, and luxuriates in the taste of her scent on his palate. He licks over Mallory’s cheekbone and down to where he’d seen her dimple at him earlier, rumbling out a close approximation of a purr.

His Mistress wakes with a giggle that makes Michael want to put his teeth to her skin. He bites at her quickly, once, just a playful hint of teeth, and flops back down to the floor to swat at her chestnut waves.


Apparently, her kitten is feeling frisky.

Mallory stands up from the tub, water streaming off of her slight curves, and gropes at a towel on the wall. Stepping out, she wraps herself up in plush cotton and reaches for the drain.

Denied the fun of her hair, Michael wanders over to push his weight into her leg again. Mallory pets generously at his ears for a moment before saying, “lay down on your back on the rug at the end of the bed for me, sweetheart.”

Inspiration had struck during her five second nap. Mallory has a much better idea of how she wants to proceed now.  

Michael dutifully makes his way over to the hand-knotted rug while she heads over to the bedside table. It's standard that the top two drawers in each room are filled with toys, condoms and lubricant.

Mallory searches among the supplies and selects anal lube, a single pull leather parachute and a different kind of plug than what Michael’s currently wearing—just in case.

Mallory drops her towel before she comes to stand over her kitten. Michael stares at her, eyes glued to shadowy dip of her slit, and tries to sneak a tug at his straining shaft. “Paws off of your cock or you don’t come at all tonight,” Mallory snaps.

Michael’s moue of disappointment has her growing damp. She can’t wait to bring frustrated tears to those narrowed eyes.

Chuckling quietly, Mallory kneels beside him and sets her supplies on the rug. She leans over Michael, hands planted on either side of his head, and takes his mouth in a solid, breath-stealing kiss.

Michael opens to her and submits with a whine, letting her plunder the wet heat of his mouth in a crude imitation of fucking.

When Mallory pulls back, Michael’s eyes are hazy.

She moves her hands over his skin, tracing the curves and dips of his body and circling around the freckles that she finds above the crest of his right hip. Michael sinks into the stroking, arms and legs akimbo, and gasps when Mallory brings her lips to the tip of his cock for a brief kiss.

“Put your feet flat on the floor for me,” Mallory commands.

She shuffles down the length of Michael’s body and in between his spread legs with ease. God, Mallory thinks, biting back a groan. He’s gorgeous all open and vulnerable like this. He's waxed completely smooth.

Gaze gleaming with lust, Mallory pries her eyes away from her kitten’s dusky balls and the glint of the plug beneath to look up into his face.

Michael’s eyes plead for things that he doesn’t know how to ask for.

Dark want leaps in Mallory’s chest. She curls her lips into a dirty smirk and asks, “have you ever had your balls tortured, kitten?”

Michael slides his eyes so that he’s looking at a spot on the wall next to them and gives a small shrug of his shoulders.

None of that.

Mallory grips his sack with her fingernails and gives him a little squeeze. “If I wanted non-verbal answers, I’d have muzzled you. Speak, Michael.”

Michael yelps.

“Y-yes, Mistress, I have,” he answers. “But it didn’t for me? I don’t know. I—it was my fault, I wasn’t relaxed enough—”

“Thank you for being honest,” Mallory interrupts before Michael can wind himself up with anxiety. “It sounds like the person that you were with didn’t know what they were doing and blamed it on you instead.”

The shameful bob of Michael’s throat says it all.

Mallory waits until he meets her eyes again and then says, “for the sake of science let’s give it another try.” She grabs the leather parachute and holds it up for Michael’s inspection. “I’m going to lock you up tight with this and tug on the D-ring at the bottom while I lick all around that pretty cock of yours. Colour?”

Michael licks his lips and croaks, voice cracking, “green.”

“Good kitten,” Mallory praises. She opens the Velcro on the parachute and wraps the cone around Michael’s balls, cinching it up tight below the base of his cock.

Hooking a finger in the D-ring at the bottom, Mallory dives down to taste the little bead of precome glistening at Michael’s tip. She licks right over his slit, dipping in shallowly and moans at the flavour.

Getting down to business, Mallory starts darting little licks all over Michael’s cockhead with the flat of her tongue. She waits until he's squirming to lick at his frenulum. Michael gasps at the sensation, back arching, and she tugs at the parachute, strangling his nuts.


Michael fists his paws in the rug and whines.

His back and buttocks slick with sweat as Mallory tortures him, constricting his balls and fluttering her tongue over his cock.

She’s licking long passes up his shaft now, but it’s nowhere near enough friction for Michael to get off.

Every time she yanks at the parachute, a sharp ache flares in Michael's perineum. The burn trips up his nerves endings and sets off sparks in his brain.

Michael’s eye’s roll back in his head. He’s never felt anything like it.

Relentless, Mallory grabs the handle of his curved plug and pushes it up deep inside of him, milking his prostate.

Another sensation makes itself known.

Shit, shit, shit.

Michael’s bladder clenches uncomfortably, feeling hot and tight above his cock. His ears turn red as he realizes that he forgot to use the bathroom before entering the room and curling up on the bed.

Every push of the plug sends a wave of urgency through his bladder. His cock twitches with the need to spurt.

Michael forces himself not to think about it. He can hold it.

He just needs to focus on the warm rasp of Mallory’s tongue. His shaft is completely coated in her saliva now, throbbing red and tacky against his lower belly.

Another yank of the parachute has Michael’s eyes shooting wide with alarm. 

Oh God, oh God. The pressure.

He’s on the verge of overstimulation. The need to piss grows dire. Michael grinds his back teeth as his vision blurs with a sheen of tears.

“Mistress,” he calls out, voice wrecked. “I need to pee really, really bad.”

Mallory pauses in her licking and looks up at him. The breath that she huffs over Michael’s spit shiny crown makes him quake with a full body shiver.

“That’s too bad,” she says, unbothered by his distress. “Kittens are only allowed to use the litter box. Do you see a litter box around here Michael?”

Michael blinks at her, thrown by the question. His tears flow over, sticking his lashes together into little triangles. “N-No.”

“That’s right, baby. You’ll have to hold it,” Mallory tells him, tone firm.

She sits back on her knees and stirs his plug again. Michael curses, squirming desperately.

“I can’t—please!” he shouts.  

His mistress is unmoved. “Don’t you dare piss. If you really want this to stop, you’ll use your colours.”

Michael can only lay there, mouth open, as Mallory rotates the plug in a 180º arc, dragging it against his insides. Her other hand pulls the leather circling his balls straight out and twists viciously.

Pain. Pleasure. Humiliation.


Michael shrieks and thrashes his head on the floor, delirious. His tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. He can see the colour red, can imagine the word but he can't make his lips shape the letters.

It hurts and it’s intense and it’s everything.

Michael’s breath stills. His bladder contracts with a mighty spasm.

He bursts.

“Oh, fuck,” Michael gasps.

A hot stream of piss erupts from the tip of his cock and sears a line straight across his belly and flank. It dribbles from his skin in golden rivulets, soaking the rug below him.

The spasms don’t stop. They cramp Micheal's bladder again and again, wringing urine from his body until he’s completely empty.

Hot shame and relief mix in Michael’s gut. He lays there, panting in a puddle of his own urine, cock still rock hard, and cries silently, feeling blissfully out of breath.

Mallory sits between his legs, hands on her knees, at stares at him. Her brown eyes promise cruel and thorough punishment.

Michael sniffles and wipes at the tears on his cheeks. “I’m sorry Mistress,” he says, blue eyes begging for forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to.”


Mallory can’t quite say that she’s disappointed. She knew exactly what would happen if she kept twisting that plug.

And what a show Michael gave her.

Fucking hell.

Mallory shifts her weight, thighs rubbing together, and feels her core clench hungrily. The picture of Michael’s face, pink and screwed up in agony as he wets himself, will sustain her on many a cold winter night.

Still, punishment is due.

Mallory listens to her kitten’s pathetic sniveling and frowns. “On your paws now!” she snaps, landing a hard slap to the inside of his thigh.

Michael’s lip wobbles for a moment but he does as he was ordered, hunching over on his side and then pushing up to his hands and knees directly over the wet spot.

Mallory moves beside his hip and tweaks his tail for a moment, tickling the backs of his wet thighs with the fur. “I should paddle your ass for what you just did," she tells Michael conversationally.

She fists a hand in his hair and pulls back on his roots until Michael has no choice but to shuffle back or loose the strands.

Michael whines, high-pitched and needy, eyes darting around in panic. He looks…

Broken. Debauched.


Pushing down sharply, she grinds Michael’s face into the sopping rug. His ears tip forward with the harsh movement, settling into a woeful slant.

“Bad kitten,” Mallory scolds him. “You’ve ruined Mistress’ rug.”

Michael turns his face to the side and coughs, choking and sputtering on the smell and taste of his own urine. 

Mallory pushes down hard one more time, signalling Michael to keep his head there, and releases her grip.

Shuffling behind him again, Mallory flips Michael’s tail up over the small of his back and pulls his plug all the way out of his ass.

Michael groans and sucks in a lungful of piss scented air.

Lube seeps from his puffy rim, wetting the skin of his taint.

Mallory picks up the hollow butt plug that she’d retrieved earlier and coats it liberally with anal lube. “You’re going to press that whore mouth of yours into the rug and suckle your piss while I work on putting most of my hand up your ass," she says, outlining Michael's punishment.

His hips stutter in front of her in reluctant interest. 

Mallory drops her bomb. “You don’t get to come until I say so." She leans forward and catches Michael's gaze over his shoulder. “What’s your colour, baby?”

Michael chews at his lip in indecision, brutalizing the flesh with his teeth until it’s swollen and wet. “…Green,” he whispers hoarsely.

Mallory pets the pale cheek of his ass with her sticky fingers. “There’s clove in the lube so it should ease some of the sting. Breathe out for me kitten and bear down.”

Under her careful guidance, Michael relaxes enough for her to work the oval shape of the toy into his little pucker.

If he hadn’t already stretched himself this wouldn’t be possible without some serious prep. Loose as he is, Mallory still has to slow down and slide the widest part past his rim a millimetre at a time.  


The massive silicone plug locks into place inside of Michael with a wet, sucking sound.

Holy motherfucking shit.

It feels like Mallory’s already got her fist in his ass. The walls of the hollow plug force Michael’s tender insides apart and leave him gaping.

His muscles scream with the strain of being held open, yet he can’t help but roll his hips, thrilling at the feel of the wide toy moving inside of him.

Mallory slips her fingers in and spreads, pushing against the silicone and spearing beyond.

Scorching pleasure whites out Michael’s brain.


Mallory snickers meanly as Michael’s hips buck forward involuntarily.

His hole flutters around her fingers, trying to suck them in deeper. She pulls back and fucks another digit in.

“You better start sucking on that rug, kitten, or I’ll keep you speared on my fingers for the rest of the night,” Mallory tells him.

Michael mewls in distress and presses his mouth to the rug, latching onto the pile with a hard suck. Mallory crooks her fingers and fucks his ass hard, rhythm in sync with the movements of his tongue and jaw.

“Look at your little fuck hole gape. Next time I’ll tie you down and give you my strap,” Mallory purrs. The idea has her nipples hardening as a little trickle of arousal leaks down her inner thigh. 

She alternates sharp jabs into Michael's sucking heat with lingering strokes over the firm bump of his prostate. Michael’s cock jerks below him, adding little blurts of precome to the mess that he’s made of the rug.

Her kitten grunts and wails, sounds muffled by the fabric in his mouth, as his whole body trembles. More tears slide down his cheeks.

“You’re doing so well, Michael,” Mallory praises him. “Just a little bit more.”

She slips her pinky finger inside of his hole and marvels at how beautifully he takes each digit to the third knuckle.


Michael nearly levitates with the electricity that courses through him. The pressure of four digits against his walls and abused prostate is too much.

He’s going to pass out.

Another swipe of Mallory’s fingertips sets Michael’s nub pulsating. He starts to crest his release, ass clenching helplessly, as she holds him on the knife-edge of pleasure pain.

Michael spits out the musky fibres between his lips and begs with all that he’s worth.


Please, please, please,” Michael sobs, completely, perfectly broken.

Mallory’s heart flutters as her clit gives an approving throb. 

Mounting the back of one of his thighs, Mallory keeps her fingers inside of Michael and curves herself as far as she can over his back. She snarls, consumed with the need to mark him, and buries her teeth in his skin. Michael’s entire body goes slack, submitting to her abuse.

Mallory bites along the knobs of his spine and starts rutting against his leg, taking her pleasure with every hump of her needy sex. 

Their eyes meet. 

Michael’s dilated pupils have Mallory hurtling toward her climax. 


She did that. She made him look that wrecked and desperate. Her body tenses, nipples tightening, and she reaches her free hand down to wrap around Michael’s cock.

Mallory strokes him once, twice, squeezing around his head, and thrusts the fingers in his ass deep. “Come,” she tells him.

Michael’s orgasm rips through him, contracting the muscles of his ass and pushing a scream from his lungs.

The rapturous O of his lips sweeps Mallory over the edge. She grinds her clit against his quadricep and tips into orgasm with a sweet sounding sigh.



Michael floats away from himself.

He’s aware of a hushed voice and of someone trying to move his body, but it takes a few minutes before he regains control of his limbs.

Muscles rallying their last bit of strength, Michael helps Mallory haul him to his feet and lay him out on the bed.

She must have removed the plug when he was away from himself because he feels uncomfortably empty.

Mallory wets a cloth under the tap of the tub and wipes him down between his legs, washing his cock and hole gently.

Michael whimpers and makes grabby hands when she pulls the cloth away, wanting her touch on his feverish skin.

“Shhh, kitten,” Mallory soothes him. “It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere.”

Michael’s Domme curls herself around him and quiets his whimpers with a slow kiss.


Mallory pulls away from Michael’s tempting pout and gives him little pecks all over his nose and cheeks. He giggles like a little boy and lets his eyes droop closed, completely fucked out.

She removes Michael’s pet-gear and sets his ears and tail off to the side so that they don’t get crushed.

He could use a collar, Mallory thinks, a pink one with a bell. He’d been far too silent when he’d snuck up on her in the tub.

As she’d suspected, there are water bottles and disposable straws in the bottom drawer of the bedside table. Michael peeks his eyes open when she cracks the top of one open. He lifts his head and opens for the straw that she taps against his bottom lip.

Michael drinks deep for a moment and then stops himself with a grimace.

“It’s okay, baby,” Mallory says. “You’re allowed to use the toilet now, drink as much as you want. There’s a bathroom across the hall.”

Michael collapses against the pillows with an exhausted huff when he's had his fill of water. He practically crawls on top of Mallory when she lays down next to him, pinning her down with his weight.

She lets him explore, stroking over her breasts and mouthing along her clavicle as he comes out of sub-space.

When Michael looks up at Mallory next, his eyes glitter with cognizance.

“Thank you, Mistress,” Michael says, tone determined despite his blush. His fingertips tap nervously against the base of her throat. “Do you think—” he cuts himself off, “—would you like to go through with the pet adoption?”

Mallory’s having déjà vu. Michael's that nervous teenager again, terrified that she’s going to reject him.

She cups his face and kisses him, reassuring him as best she can with tangled tongues and mingled breath.

Michael shudders with relief.

Mallory pulls back with a little nip to his bottom lip and whispers, “I think we need to buy your mother a new rug.”