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I sit upon the bed, chest bare, cock tenting my pajama bottoms. My impossibly beautiful wife struts through the bedroom door, wearing nothing but casual brief panties and a small key dangling from a thin, braided necklace. I could ache for any part of her, and describe it to you here. It’s her face that does me in tonight, though. More than any one feature of it, it’s her expression. She is the cat — and the Cat – who ate the canary. Her confidence and satisfaction radiate, and make every part of her that much sexier.
She sees me staring. My lustful, worshipful gaze only feeds her light — and, I suspect, her heat.
She holds the leash, leading our pet Shayleigh into the room. Shayleigh is down on her hands and knees, collared with elegant black Italian leather. It’s sleek and understated, but for the fact that it’s much thicker around her delicate neck than her day collars. It sports exactly two adornments: a miniature chrome padlock in the back, and a shiny chrome heart on the front, etched with proof her pedigree.
“Shayleigh: Property Of Professor Catherine Adams, PhD.”
Shayleigh is a beautiful pet, and my wife keeps her groomed just the way we like her. She’s completely hairless and smooth except for two light, well-curated eyebrows and the long strawberry-blonde locks upon her head. Her hair is bound up tightly tonight in a combination braid-bun. Her lips are coated with a subtle, understated gloss. Her fingernails are short and smooth, sporting only a protective polish, and her toenails are kempt the same. One of the perks of being our pet is that she gets weekly mani-pedis. Purely by coincidence, I favor the natural look; since Shayleigh is a very special kind of pet, though, there’s another obvious reason for why her paws lack claws.
Her skin is pale, nearly flawless. I’ve never seen someone with so few beauty marks. She also has no tattoos and no piercings — not even tiny holes for studs in her ears. I’m bland-to-neutral on both, only begrudgingly conceding there are ‘good ones’ on a case-by-case basis. The three of us have agreed that any jewelry related to our ownership won’t be of the piercing variety. Cat and Shayleigh aren’t nearly as dead-set on ‘no tattoos ever,’ but I can’t help but think that I’d view any piece, no matter how small, as vandalism of something that’s already perfect.
I do tend to change my tune a bit, however, when the opportunity arises to give our pet’s skin a little temporary color.
We’ll be doing that tonight, as a matter of fact.
Shayleigh also possesses the ineffable beauty of youth; seven years our junior, there’s no denying that her allure goes beyond her grooming and her submission. Her eyes just seem a little wider, her lips, a little wetter and fuller. Her most private places run a little hotter, even before we actually tease or caress them.
Beyond that is her innocence — which, after three months with us, and two of those given over fully as our pet, is absolutely just a ‘look’ and nothing else. It’s still there, though. Her doe-eyed gaze can still melt my heart. My wife does a better job of pretending to be immune, but in our private moments she doesn’t try to deny its power.
Still, for all that, my wife commands the room, and not just as Shayleigh’s formal owner. I don’t know if it’s true for every spouse, but I know that it’s true for me: when I look at my wife, I don’t just see the smooth, trim, fit, confident beauty before me. I don’t just see the fiercely intelligent professor, or the goofy cutup who can make me laugh as easily as she can make me cum. I don’t just see the competitor who beats me a little too often at Scrabble for it to be ‘just the tiles.’
I see all of that, all at once, and more: the seven years of love we’ve shared, trust we’ve built, and mind-blowing sex we’ve had together.
That’s why my wife doesn’t mind that I love Shayleigh. My wife loves her too, and we both know that that’s its own, special kind of love. We love our submissive, loyal, sexually-available pet as exactly that. We love each other as husband and wife, and there’s simply no reason or need to ever pit the two against each other.
My wife has made her way to the bed. She’s standing over me, and I let my eyes trail all the way up her body, savoring every sexy bit along the way. My mouth waters at the sight of her covered mound, and I feel its heat. I may not have touched my wife yet tonight, but I’ve still given her attention, and Cat likes attention. My lips part with hungry desire when I look up at her perky, youthful breasts, and there I see eraser-tip nipples, already erect. I finally meet her piercing emerald gaze, and once again witness sly satisfaction. As I said: she likes the attention I give her. I love giving it.
“Shayleigh, sit, patience position,” she calls out.
I catch Shayleigh’s immediate compliance from the corner of my eye.
“Hey baby,” Cat says to me, her eyes gleaming. “Are you ready?”
She takes her free hand and grazes my cock through escort izmir my pajama bottoms. It twitches in response, and her smile widens. How many canaries can one Cat eat? We’ve barely begun.
“I am,” I reply simply.
Cat flashes me one last sexy look, then moves to one side and turns around. Now we can both see our pet.
Shayleigh is in her assigned position: a classic kneeling rest, her perky butt on her calves, hands resting passively on the front of her quads. Her gaze is to the floor, which hunches her soft shoulders. If not for that, her posture from waist to neck would be perfect. It will be in just a moment.
“Give me your eyes, Shayleigh,” Cat commands.
Shayleigh moves her whole neck and straightens herself, then tilts the extra little bit to meet Cat’s stern, expectant gaze. Our pet’s tiny breasts try to jut out, even though their barely-A-cup size keeps them mostly flush against her slim frame. They still do it for me; especially alluring are the tiny nipples, surrounded by barely-larger aerolae, that seem to be permanently erect. To me, that’s a standing invitation to lick and suck — and I do, whenever my wife lets me.
Cat sits down on the bed, and makes sure Shayleigh’s eyes follow hers.
Even though Shayleigh’s not looking at me, my heart still melts a little. Her gaze says everything about our relationship without saying it. Cat makes her say most of it anyway, because it’s sexy as hell to hear her speak the words, but it’s all right there in those deep hazel eyes: I am yours. You are my everything. I want to be good for you. Please tell me I am.
Cat lowers her hand to the bed, but still holds the leash. It hangs, low and loosely, between the bed and Shayleigh’s collared neck. The leash link is hooked around a subtle, cut middle strip, which allows it to slide nearly all the way to the front. It’s the tiniest of details, but it makes the image before me that much sexier. Cat is now visibly in control of of Shayleigh’s neck from her throat, rather than her nape. There’s also no awkwardness from the leash itself looping around behind our pet’s body.
“Shayleigh, tell us what tonight is,” Cat orders.
“Tonight is Friday night, Professor Catherine,” Shayleigh says, “which means it’s time for my weekly reminder spanking.”
The words make my cock twitch yet again. I’d pulled the idea out of thick, horny air during a kink session with my wife, about a month before she’d met Shayleigh for the first time. It had never existed before then as a part of our sex life. It still didn’t when that session was finished. My wife thought it sounded hot, though, and here we are four or five months later. Our sexy little pet gets weekly reminder spankings, and afterwards, well, the night remains young.
Shayleigh’s voice is the perfect match to her gaze. She has no guile – not even coyness. Her relationship with us revolves around a pure desire to serve, please, and obey. She readily accepts our slowly-expanding weekly routine as part and parcel to that service and obedience. She thrives within its confines, and with our (well, okay, mostly Cat’s) steady discipline. She craves our approval and our love in exchange, and, as far as I’m concerned, she makes it very easy for us to give it.
She also, thank heavens, craves the sex.
I don’t know how Cat sussed that — and so much else — out so quickly, but she did. Shayleigh’s upbringing didn’t push her either towards or away from sex, but she was a quiet, thoughtful, introspective girl who never felt a part of any high school scene where sex was happening. She still is all of those things; it’s a point of pride for me that Cat and I didn’t spark – or force – some sudden or grand change in her.
To steal a line from a better writer: I like to think that our relationship with Shayleigh has just made her more of who she already was.
She was always hot, and she was always horny. She was always interested in sex, and she was never taken in by the sex-is-the-boogeyman bullshit that, tragically, still permeates our society.
Even when I’m out with her on our runs, or catch sight of her on one of my rare visits to campus, the difference in how she walks, and how she interacts with her peers, doesn’t strike me as a personality shift. It’s just her being more of herself. She’s more confident, but it’s not Cat’s confidence rubbing off on her, or her trying to imitate it. It’s her own. She finally feels comfortable occupying her space in the world.
My thoughts drift like this when I look into her eyes and hear her voice. I also have a little downtime before it’s my turn to actively participate, and, well, I’m not supposed to play with my cock yet either. All of that is a recipe for a wandering mind.
Cat’s commanding voice is enough to draw me back into the scene.
“That’s correct, Shayleigh,” she says, satisfied. “And what’s the first thing we do to prepare for your reminder spanking?”
“You evaluate my behavior for the past week, Professor Catherine,” escort izmir Shayleigh responds.
“And who else do we hear from?” Cat presses.
“We hear from Mr. Taylor, Professor Catherine, your husband,” she answers.
“Very good, Shayleigh,” Cat says.
She makes as though to start the weekly rundown, but stops herself.
“Shayleigh, have you had your temperature taken yet today?” she asks.
Shayleigh’s pale skin can’t hide the hint of a blush, and I can’t hide another spasm from my poor, tortured member. Over-the-knee rectal thermometer play is another kink that I occasionally indulge in with Cat. As much as she’s enjoyed it in the past, apparently she was even more eager to perform it on a feminine, submissive pet — or, better yet, have me perform it, and often under her supervision.
I was overjoyed when Shayleigh confessed to us, during her first subsequent Sunday safe word check-in, that she wanted to continue the daily routine. After some masterful coaxing from Cat, Shayleigh was able to express how it made her feel completely owned and controlled in so many different ways at once: surrendering her deepest, most private place to her owner; the idea of being ‘checked’ and ‘examined’ which placed her health and well-being similarly under their control; and, of course, being given,or commanded to give herself, sexual pleasure while being so intimately invaded.
Our relationship with Shayleigh doesn’t involve direct, cruel, or public infliction of humiliation or embarrassment, but those feelings are surely the extra spice that makes a few of our activities that much hotter. Part of the thrill, even for an approval-hungry pet like Shayleigh, is knowing that she’s given certain ‘normal’ things up: privacy, sovereignty, dignity. Cat chooses how much of them to give back, and she can always change her mind.
I once called it “the Dildo of Damocles.” I thought it was pretty good. Cat wasn’t impressed. Can the English professor do better? Maybe one day I’ll turn these stories over to her, and we can find out together.
Regardless, that’s what I catch on Shalyeigh’s face, as a blush: that little bit of extra heat. It’s a powerful aphrodisiac for the owner as well.
“No, Professor Catherine,” Shayleigh says, shaking her head slightly to emphasize her answer.
“I appreciate your honesty, Shayleigh,” Cat says. “Jack, honey, why don’t you go fetch the thermometer and Vaseline?”
“Already done, honey,” I answer immediately.
Cat turns her head and rewards me with a big smile.
“So thoughtful!” she says, once again lightly stroking my cock through my pants. “Thank you, honey.”
“Thank you, Mr. Taylor,” Shayleigh says.
Cat turns back to her, and reaches out that same hand to caress her face. Shayleigh melts into it.
“Such a polite girl,” Cat murmurs.
There’s business to attend to, though, and so Cat withdraws her hand and gets down to it.
“We begin on Saturday,” she says. “Jack, Shayleigh had exercise time with you in the morning. How did she perform?”
“We had a very good run together,” I say. “Shay-shay is a very good partner. We made good time and met our distance goal.”
“Mmmm, that all sounds… ‘good,'” Cat says slyly. You marry an English professor, you sign up for those little barbs.
“And was this an intense session, or a plug session?” she asks.
“Oh, it was a full session this week, honey,” I say with a smile.
Cat keeps her eyes on Shayleigh.
“Shayleigh, tell us what ‘full session’ means,” she demands.
“It means that I go for a run with my daily maintenance plug inside of me, Professor Catherine,” she says. Then Cat interrupts her. Shayleigh’s mouth immediately closes.
“And what kind of a plug is that, Shayleigh?” Cat presses.
“An anal plug, Professor Catherine,” Shayleigh replies. She makes as if to continue, but then shuts her mouth again.
I see the hint of a wicked smile on Cat’s face. She always tries to trip Shayleigh up at least once during these evaluations. Not much comes of it even if she succeeds, but it still gives her a thrill. Shayleigh doesn’t need a constant failure-punishment-apology cycle; she’s not that kind of pet. The three of us have agreed that it’s fun to poke and prod sometimes, though.
“And what else?” Cat says, prompting Shayleigh to continue.
“I also have a remote vibrator attached to me, Professor Catherine,” she says. “It vibrates around my clitty and inside of my pussy, and Mr. Taylor controls it during our run.”
“Mmmm, that’s right, Shayleigh,” Cat says.
“And, please remind me,” she continues, “did I give you permission to take any of Jack’s cum before you headed out that morning? Did you have some of my husband’s cum inside of you during your run?”
“No, Professor Catherine,” Shayleigh says.
“Mmmm, right,” Cat says, pretending to be lost in thought for a moment. “Well, I do love my husband’s cum, and I do hate to give it away to anyone else. Still… if this evaluation keeps up as it is, I think you’ll have earned some of it. In that case, tomorrow we might do either a plug session or a full session with some of that cum deep inside of your bowels.”
“Thank you, Professor Catherine,” Shayleigh says.
Our pet’s eyes flick over to me for the briefest of moments. It’s too quick to guess at what she’s thinking. I hope she’s thinking about me sodomizing her tomorrow morning before our run, and I hope it excites her. That’s sure as hell what I’m thinking about now.
My cock hardens for probably the third time since Cat led Shayleigh into our bedroom. The arousal never dissipates; every time my cock softens, it sends heat somewhere else in my body. With the way Cat likes to tease me, I often worry I’ll run out of those other places and simply explode.
“Is there anything else you feel the need to say about that idea, Shayleigh?” Cat asks.
She’s fishing for the safe word. Shayleigh deserves a chance to say ‘no’ before things happen, even though our weekly check-in is on Sundays.
“No, Professor Catherine,” Shayleigh says. “Thank you, Professor Catherine.”
Cat raises an eyebrow and glances over at me again. Shayleigh’s pointedly declined the opportunity.
“Lucky boy,” she murmurs. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame her for loving your cum, or your cock.”
“I’m happy to give you both tonight,” I answer immediately, and I mean it. I’d give them to her right now. I know how hot the impending spanking-and-anal session is going to be, but still. God damn.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Cat responds, and it’s my turn to look like the cat who ate the canary.
The rest of the evaluation does indeed go Shayleigh’s way. From chores, to schoolwork, to diet and exercise, to curfews, to the piece de la resistance — complete sexual availability to Cat at all times, and to me whenever Cat gives the word – Shayleigh gets good marks. Whenever Cat asks me for input, I’m eager to praise our sexy little pet. Cat therefore feels obligated to be stingier, but she can’t deny that it’s been another week of excellent behavior.
She still leaves Shayleigh hanging for a few moments. She pretends to do math, and she’s very good at selling the fib. She is a real professor, after all. She grades students all the time.
“Well Shayleigh, I think you’ve passed the threshold again this week,” Cat says. “Not only have you earned an easy reminder spanking, but you’ve also earned your weekly reward.”
Shayleigh’s eyes light up. I swear I can see happy tears welling up in them, glistening off the deep hazel. My heart melts all over again. She’s struggling to hold her patience position, now. Cat’s final judgment has infused her with the giddy energy of a happy pup.
“Thank you, Professor Catherine,” she says, and her voice quivers. It’s mostly joy, with just a hint of relief.
“Mmmm, start thinking about what you want,” Cat says, “and make sure to be on your best behavior tomorrow. You wouldn’t want to lose your reward when you’re so close.”
“I will be, Professor Catherine,” Shayleigh says. “Thank you, Professor Catherine.”
Cat relaxes, finally, signaling that the evaluation is well and truly ended. She quickly pats both of her hands on her lap.
“Up up, Shay-shay,” she orders. “Come give me kisses.”
Shayleigh hops-to with enthusiasm. I take a moment to pity her poor knees, but, well, she’s twenty years old and very fit. She’s probably okay. She lifts herself and tilts forward, back on all fours for the trip to the bed — a trip so short that it’s a little silly to make all that effort. She does, though, and then pretends to use her hands and arms as leverage to paw her way up the mattress.
Cat gently grasps those arms as she would a dog’s, and gently places them upon her breasts. Shayleigh paws at them lovingly, but doesn’t grasp or knead. She knows she needs permission for that. Cat then takes to stroking and petting Shayleigh all over, and she leans in for a bevy of quick, happy kisses all over the face. Shayleigh gives those as good as she gets.
I just wait, and watch, and throb.
“Oh, such a good girl,” Cat says. “Mommy loves her good little girl.”
No, it isn’t like that. We’re pet-parents. The occasional ‘mommy’ slips out, and it’s fine.
‘Kisses’ soon turn into a proper makeout session, confirming once again the true extent of Shayleigh’s role. Cat seems engrossed in it, but she’s still clearly in charge. Beyond her wandering hands and her general body language, I can sense that her tongue is clearly the dominant one, probing and penetrating Shayleigh’s mouth, while Shayleigh accepts it and caresses it with her own.
Cat does manage to give me the silent signal to join in after a minute or so. I get off the bed and come around to Shayleigh’s rear. I begin petting her and stroking her all over, too, and I take up where Cat left off in showering her with the praise and affection she so desperately craves. My low, masculine voice hits her differently than Cat’s. I manage to get a different set of shudders and other responses from our pet, and it makes me feel like a truly vital part of the process.
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