Bailey, the Family Pet

Bailey hung her head.

"Who is that, Daddy?" the little girl asked.

Cutting her eyes left to take a closer look, Bailey saw the little girl. Eight or nine years old. Blonde. Morris squatted as he spoke to her. He petted her hair.

The hair on the back of Bailey's neck stood up. She noisily blew all the air from her lungs. Raising her head, she tested the amount of play in her chain. The rise and fall of her libido had a way of clarify her mind. She needed to rescue that little girl. That was most important. She needed to free herself, kill Morris, and then find her way home.

And all of it without using her thumbs.

Bailey snorted, a big grin breaking out on her face. She gazed around the room. The chair her father had pulled from the table sat empty.

A ruckus erupted on the other side of the club. Her father marched toward her with a pair of bolt cutters on his shoulder. One of the bouncers raced over to confront him. Her father just kept striding toward her as if he didn't notice the bouncer. At the last second, her father ducked down and then came back up, doing something with his body to use the bouncer's momentum against him.

The bouncer ended up on his back.

Her father stomped on the man's throat, retrieved the bolt cutters, and then continued toward Bailey. She was duly impressed. For this courageous act, she would let him live but use the bolt cutters to castrate him.

"Hey," Morris shouted. "Hey!"

The unmistakable sound of a shotgun's pump action rang through the club.

Her father stopped. He turned toward Morris.

Bailey smelled gasoline. It was so powerful, it burned her nose. She pivoted on her chain to see where it was coming from.

Pointing his gun, Morris approached her father, who set the bolt cutters on the floor. The tool that could free her lay three or four feet from her, almost at her feet, but it might as well have been a mile.

Tugging at her chain, she caught the faintest whiff of a familiar scent. It was the smell of someone unpredictable. Someone wild.

"I can't let you take her," Morris laughed. "The Williams will find you, and then they'll find me."

An explosion outside the club burst the glass in one of the club's main windows. Alarms from several different cars shrieked to life. The lights in the club flickered.

Bailey's ears rang.

Everything moved in slow motion. Her throat burned. She couldn't breathe. Scrambling to put her feet under her, she felt the chain around her neck go slack, and then she could breathe again. Debris and dust floated in the air.

Her father laughed. "They've already found you," he said.

Bailey stretched her body, sending her feet toward where the bolt cutters lay.

Morris barked out orders.

Her toes touched the metal handle. It moved and she lost contact. Backing up, Bailey lunged again and the chain bit into her neck. Her feet found nothing.

She did it again and again.

Nothing.

Another explosion outside the club, her father laughing and Morris softly cursing.

Her heel finally hit between the Y of the bolt cutter handles. Bailey forced her heel flat against the floor, inching the tool towards her. She brought it all the way to stage.

"You little fucking cunt," Morris said.

She felt her chain constrict and Morris's hot breath on her face. Bailey scrambled to get her feet underneath her, get her oxygen back.

"You're coming with me," Morris hissed.

Pointing the shotgun toward her father, Morris turned his attention to the padlock.

Bailey grabbed the heavy bolt cutters with both hands. Heaving it over her head, she swung it down on Morris's head. He went down on one knee.

Raising the tool again, she let its weight carry it back down.

Morris shielded his head this time, grabbing the tool.

Bailey shrieked. Lunging back, she felt the chain catch, the back of her neck absorbing most of the blow.

The shotgun went off.

Morris leaped onto the stage.

His face was twisted into a snarl. He cocked his shotgun and pointed it at Bailey.

Bailey's eyes opened wide. Her heart caught in her throat.

"Down!" her father shouted.

The metallic snap of the stage lights echoed through the club.

Morris squinted his eyes and turned his head.

Bailey dropped.

A single shotgun blast rang out.

"Oorah!" a lone Marine shouted from somewhere.

Automatic weapon fire erupted from somewhere on the other side of the club.

"OORAH! OORAH! OORAH!"

A rain of automatic weapons fire. Then a short burst. Another short burst.

Brian was here.

The shotgun remained quiet.

The little girl!

Bailey fought the bile rising in her throat and used the bolt cutters to free herself. She crawled through glass and debris until she found the little girl curled up under the bar. The child's heart was beating a million miles a minute.

Bailey comforted her, hugging the girl to her breasts.

The firefight was over surprisingly quick. The smell of burning gasoline and automatic weapons fire hung in the air. Bailey didn't realize it was over until she heard Evelyn's voice.

"This one," Evelyn said.

Bailey rose from behind the bar, holding her little protégée in her arms.

Evelyn stepped through the debris in Louboutin high heels, a dark pencil skirt, and her lab coat. Two good-looking men in white lab coats followed her, carrying pneumatic syringe guns.

"Him," Evelyn said, indicating the dainty-smelling bouncer with the tattoos.

One of her assistants helped the bouncer to his feet, the other assistant injected the bouncer in the arm. The gun made a quiet hissing noise.

"Warren," Evelyn called. "I've found Bailey."

A few others in lab coats came and escorted the dazed bouncer out.

"Bailey!" Warren closed the distance between them. He looked older somehow. Still handsome, but haggard. Deep bags under his eyes.

He took her head in his hands, pressing her to his chest.

He kissed her head, stroked her cheeks.

A young woman entered the club and the child screamed "Mommy!" Bailey put the girl down and she raced to her mother.

Warren loosened the chain around her neck, inspecting the damage to her skin. He got a first aid kit and began treating her wounds. His expression was one Bailey had never seen before. Not from him, not from anyone. It looked as if he were about to burst into tears at any minute. It startled her and made her feel good at the same time.

Brain kicked some debris from a trapdoor in the stage. "Out!" he shouted, training a weapon into the hidden compartment.

Morris rose from the stage.

"That one," Evelyn said. "That one for sure." The men in lab coats made their way toward Morris.

"This one is mine," Brian said.

He cocked his gun. The men in the lab coats stopped short.

"Stand down, Marine," Warren said.

Brian frowned at his father.

"His punishment will be to live out his days with the knowledge of what he's done."

Brian raised his lip skeptically. He looked at Bailey. He looked at the little girl Bailey had rescued. He looked at the little girl's mother.

Shielding her daughter's eyes, the woman turned her head.

"I've done nothing wrong," Morris said. "Nothing!"

"Oh, perfect," Evelyn said. She nodded her head and her lab assistants helped Morris out from below the stage. "These men are all excellent candidates for the HRH program."

The lab assistant placed the pneumatic gun against Morris's shoulder and it hissed to life.

"HRH," Evelyn said with a mischievous smile. "Human. Rodent. Hormone." Evelyn nodded and the assistant pumped two more shots into Morris's arm.

Pffft, pffft.

Morris screamed.

He shoved the lab assistant with the hypodermic gun, grasping his arms where the shot had gone in. The other lab assistant grabbed for him, but Morris overpowered him too. Morris looked frantically from side to side, then tore off toward the back of the club.

Brian raised his weapon to his shoulder.

"Oh Brian, please." Evelyn sounded exasperated.

"Son," Warren said.

Evelyn nodded to two other assistants who set off after Morris.

"He got three doses of that shit," Evelyn laughed. "We'll find him. He'll be the one with the long nose, looking for cheese."

Brian lowered his weapon.

A table toppled and someone groaned from the bottom of a pile of debris. It was Bailey's father.

Brian raised his gun.

Bailey raced to where her father lay, putting her back to him, putting her own body between him and Brian. For the second time that night, she stared down the barrel of a weapon pointed at her chest.

Brian rolled his eyes, lowering his gun.

Bailey turned to her father.

He had a chest wound. His face looked pale.

Bailey looked for Warren. He was already making his way toward them, first aid kit in hand. Bailey looked to Evelyn. She turned away and lit a cigarette.

Her father gasped. He reached for Bailey's face with his hand, putting a finger into a tear that was working its way down her cheek. Until he touched it, Bailey hadn't realized she was crying. "Bailey," he whispered.

She sniffed.

Warren caught her eye. His mouth was a small line above his square chin. Wiping his hands on a towel, he shook his head and stood.

"Bailey," her father whispered again.

It felt like the chain had her throat again. Bailey couldn't breathe. She lowered her face, resting her cheek against his.

"Let it go," he whispered.

The tears came. Big and wet and salty and rolling down both her cheeks. Bailey bit her lip and whimpered. Raising her head, she ran her fingers through his hair.

His eyes met hers. The corner of his lip jerked up, and then his eyes went flat.

Bailey was an orphan.

8

Warren came to her mat in the middle of the night.

It had only been two weeks since the night of terror, but it might as well have been twenty years. Everything was different, yet somehow still the same.

Warren wore no shirt. His muscled chest was covered with salt and pepper hair. He had shaved, even on his neck. Bailey caught his aftershave, a heady citrus scent. Barefoot, he wore flannel pajama bottoms with Marine colors.

He took her by the hand and silently opened the door that led to the backyard.

The moon was high in the sky, the night air alive with cool air and sparkling stars. Bailey's nipples rose. She bit her lip, enjoying the warmth of his big hand on hers. They crossed the patio and headed toward the pool.

Bailey had to pee.

She squatted and tugged him back. He smiled down at her, holding her hand. The delicious feeling of shame that goes with doing something you're not supposed to washed over her, making her pulse race. Her water came.

Warren dropped her hand. Lowering the waistband of his pajamas, he tugged out his big cock and peed in the soft grass.

"This feral thing," he murmured, "can be quite intoxicating."

They used the pool.

Bailey slipped quietly into the water and watched Warren remove his clothes. The hair went all the way down his stomach and legs. His bottom.

She sat on the side of the pool, her legs still in the water. Shaking out her hair, she waited for him. He heaved himself up next to her, then sat drying.

He told her again how Brian had found her. How he had tracked her across three states. How he left in hot pursuit on his motorcycle the very night she disappeared. Evelyn and he, on the other hand, had used a homing device she'd had installed in one of Bailey's earrings to find her. Brian hadn't known about Evelyn's precautions.

Warren went on and on about his son.

His determination. His resilience and tenacity.

Bailey stifled a yawn.

"Bailey," Warren said. He looked exasperated.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, he said: "I'm an old man."

Bailey narrowed her eyes.

He mentioned the previous pet. He said Evelyn had coached him on pet expectations and the rule of the wild, but he still felt conflicted. He was old fashioned.

Bailey sat with her mouth open.

She blinked.

"Bailey, it's not you," Warren said.

He promised she could remain at the house. He swore she was special. He said he'd talked with Evelyn and they were discussing all options for how best to deal with . . .

And that's where Warren's voice trailed off.

He looked uncomfortable.

"Your physical needs," he finally said, looking toward the house.

Bailey sat very still.

Her breath became shallow.

She clenched her hand into a fist, locking her thumb over her knuckle. A fist was the height of unacceptable behavior for a pet.

Fuck it.

Warren was blowing her off.

He started to extoll the virtues of his son again. He actually began articulating a list.

"Virile," he said at one point.

Bailey lowered her chin, raising her eyes. She gave Warren a withering look.

A chorus of frogs croaked.

"I'm sorry," Warren whispered.

Bailey put her head on his shoulder.

She sucked air into her lungs and loosened her fist. Warren spoke but she was no longer listening to what he was saying. Raising her head, she sniffed the night air.

Evelyn was fast asleep in the back of the house.

Brian was on the living room couch passed out drunk.

Anna was in the basement, sipping tea and watching a program on Mexican cable.

Bailey reached between Warren's thighs and grabbed his cock. Her thumb was by his groin and she held him lightly in her fingers.

He was big.

Not full with blood, but just meaty. Heavy.

"Bailey," Warren said.

She closed her fist, looking into his eyes.

"Bailey," Warren complained. He leaned back, his weight on his palms.

He scooted his hips away from the pool.

Away from her.

Bailey growled, low in her throat. She held his cock even tighter, giving it a little tug back toward her. He stopped moving.

"Oh, Bailey," he said, reproach in his voice.

Bailey rolled off her bottom and onto her knees, the hard concrete biting into her flesh. Keeping her eyes on his, she mounted his thigh and settled into a comfortable position. He tried to move forward, taking his weight off his palms, but Bailey was ready for that maneuver. She clenched her fist until he gasped. He relaxed into his former position and she backed off.

Bailey began rolling her hips, grinding her pussy against his leg. She grunted, a deep, satisfying sound. It was the sound an animal might make, feasting on carrion.

He averted his eyes.

A dog howled somewhere far off.

Her pussy was wet, sloppy. Her heart raced in her chest.

She moved her lips to his neck, her eyes on his face. He was a man, powerful and strong. She had him by the cock, but she knew her gaze was the thing really holding him in place. She kept her eyes on him as she nipped at his neck.

"Bailey," he whispered.

She put her finger to his lips, tapped him there.

Shush.

Trailing her finger from his mouth, over jaw and dimpled chin, she came to his neck. Clenching his throat, she gave her eyes respite.

She put her mouth on the place where his arm met his chest.

She suckled him. Finding little patches of skin, she bit into his flesh. She tore out hair with her teeth. Made marks. She ruined the skin on his chest in a dozen different places.

He stretched out his arms and lay on his back.

He took it.

She took as much pleasure as she could from his thigh. She was wet, and he was a little thicker in her hand. She let go of his cock, wetted her palm from the juice between her legs, then took him back in her hand, her thumb at his head.

Rising from his thigh, she let go his cock and straddled his face, her knees colliding with his arms and chest. She walked her hands up his body, lowering her bottom toward his face. His tongue made a few hesitant licks.

She lowered all her weight onto his face.

It had been an impulsive move on her part, but it was the right one. His torso twisted and she smelled his panic. Warren grunted, but it wasn't a grunt of pleasure. It was the grunt of a man who had to bear all one hundred and sixteen pounds of his very own human pet.

For Bailey, it was satisfying in its own way, this new way of containing a man. It required more from her. Intention. Those who are routinely and casually abused are often the ones most likely to behave abusively themselves. When she felt he was about to break, she would put her weight back on her feet and listen to him gasp for air. He licked better after being smothered for a bit. At least, this is what she told herself. It might have even been true. He tongued her ass with abandon. And then she would choke him again. It made her feel powerful and perverse all at the same time. Bailey had one or two little orgasms that way. Finally, she rose to her feet. And then she felt . . .

Bad.

Deep inside. Regretful.

Was this guilt?

It was!

She knelt next to Warren and kissed her juices from his face. She petted his head.

He rolled her onto her back.

He kissed his way down her tummy, his fingers working on her pussy.

Putting his tongue on her clit, he brought her to a bracing orgasm that made her dig her heels into the concrete and raise her hips high in the air.

She held his head tight to her crotch.

After it was over, she collapsed. He stroked her until her breathing returned to normal. Her back and shoulders were burned and red from the rough concrete. He lifted her in his arms and lay her in the cool grass. His cock was thick and swollen with blood.

"We're not done," he said.

He opened her legs, looping her ankles over his shoulders. He slipped his fat cock inside her, sinking himself all the way to the balls.

He gave her a moment to accommodate herself to his size.

And then he began his thrusts.

Soon the grass under her shoulders turned to soft mud. She felt herself sinking deeper, ruining more of the lawn with each of his thrusts. The cool dirt felt so good on her back. Clawing at the grass, Bailey felt her passions rise. She was going to come again!

She flailed her arms and clawed his back, scissoring his legs and howling.

When it was over, Warren was covered with a slick sheen of sweat.

His cock bobbed in front of him.

He tapped the outside of Bailey's thigh.

"More," he said flatly. "Like a dog this time."

Bailey was out of breath.

His tone of voice frightened her. He twirled his finger in the air.

Extricating her legs from his, she rolled onto her knees. She craned her neck to see what he would do. He grabbed her hips and pulled her toward him, back into the muddy spot. The dirty place she had made for herself. Getting up on his feet, he squatted behind her. Warren slipped his cock inside her, putting his hand on the back of her neck.

He forced her face into the dirt she had torn up with her back.

"Never," he said.

He let her neck go and began moving his hips.

Bailey raised her head.

He slapped her ass. It stung. He slapped her again in the same spot.

Bailey gasped.

He pushed her head back into the dirt.

"Never," he said evenly. "You must never do that again."

He let her neck go and began fucking her again. Bailey heard the slap of his flesh on her haunches. She kept her cheek in the cool mud. He occasionally slapped her ass or whispered the word "Never." Still she kept her face in the dirt. She felt another orgasm rising and wondered how she would ever manage to ride it out with lifting her face.

Warren huffed and groaned. Soon his hands gripped her hips tightly.

He thrust his hips forward and froze.

He made a series of lusty grunts.

Bailey smelled his semen.

She raised her head. He was filling her with his cum.

He wanted her.

When he finished, he picked her up in his arms. He carried her to a lounge chair by the pool and lay her down. Carrying handfuls of pool water to where she lay, he washed her face. Bailey inhaled the fresh night air as he worked. He toweled her dry.