Marguerite's Welcome

I had just purchased my first personal service pet, and she arrived shy and skittish.

I had paid extra for her virginity, of course, so the problem wasn't unexpected. Many people might not find it a problem at all--might enjoy the opportunity to watch their new conquest blush and shrink away from them, or even to see her struggle. But that wasn't what I wanted.

I wanted her hungry for me, eager for my cock. So some training was in order.

As I already said, the problem was not unexpected. I'd been warned about it, in fact, by some fellow forum-goers on my preferred pet training forum; a variety of solutions had been proposed, but the one that appealed to me most required little more than some patience on my end and a few purchases from the local sex shop. Not cheap on their own, but compared to the cost of the girl herself, the accessories were very affordable.

I introduced her to them on her arrival, along with her bedroom, which had previously been my walk-in closet. I had provided plenty of cushions and blankets to make it comfortable, but otherwise it was empty, except for the two accessories she would be wearing while sleeping: a ridged dildo, flared at the base, so that it could be safely stored up her ass--with an adjustable harness to keep it snuggly in place--and a pair of bondage mittens to keep her hands out of trouble.

A chastity belt may have been even more effective, but I would have needed to order it custom-sized to her measurements, and even my patience has limits. And besides, it would have obstructed my view of her.

She was a lovely creature, twenty-one years of age, with long, dark hair and matching curls at her nethers. Her eyes were dark as well, and they were large and frightened as she eyed her nest of a bed and the toys lying in the center, listening to my explanation of how she would be wearing them to sleep every night.

She was quiet, too. That was another product of her anxiety, and as irksome to me as the rest of it. Not that I had expected a conversationalist--she couldn't speak, of course; that was a mandatory part of the training, something I wasn't rich enough to buy out of. It was part of the legal requirements for pet status. She would only speak under very specific circumstances, primarily only to the authorities in the case that she were to witness a crime. But she could make sounds, of that I was sure, and I had no interest in fucking a church-mouse.

"Your name," I informed her, "is Marguerite." She nodded silently to that, too, her wide, dark eyes staring somewhere at my hip.

So our routine began. That first evening, she was cooperative but clearly inexperienced, fumbling her way through my instructions: first preparing herself, then slicking the dildo, and then sliding it--slowly, and with a great deal of embarrassment, refusing to meet my gaze as she did--into her ass. Then she wiped her hands clean of lube with the hand-towel I provided and strapped the harness into place before putting the mittens on. I had to strap up the last one for her, and I gave her a little pat on the ass when it was done, which got an almost-noise out of her, a little flustered, breathless squeak.

I smiled and sent her to bed, closing the door behind her.

The next day, she did very little except follow me around, silent as a ghost. Except a ghost wouldn't be so bashful; she drifted towards furniture and doorways, anything she could stand near to conceal part of herself, because of course I had given her practically nothing to wear in the way of clothing, just a bit of gauzy drape to accentuate her body. She even held her hands in front of her privates, although she clearly knew she wasn't meant to be doing that, because she'd pull them away again if I looked at her too hard; but they'd wander back again sooner or later, as if she could retain her modesty by concealing a few inches of her body from my gaze.

Marguerite was intelligent, though. I knew that because I'd requested it, first of all, but I also knew it from her behavior, even silent and timid as she was at the beginning: she took everything in as I showed her around the house, her eyes jumping from one place to the next, lingering on certain things that made her think.

The piano in the foyer was one of the things which caught her eye. "Do you play?" I asked, and she jumped, twisting her hands nervously in front of her, as if surprised to be observed. Finally, after several seconds, she nodded, then held up one of her hands, fingers pinched together. A bit, I understood her to mean. "Lovely," I said, and considered whether it would be worth it to pay for an instructor to improve her skills. I'd never been much of a fan of music, but I liked the idea of it, her sitting at the piano and playing for me.

Her cheeks flushed with color, either at the compliment or with embarrassment at having such a conversation in her half-dressed state.

After the tour of the house, I took her with me into my home office and put in a few hours of work. She kneeled beside me, quiet and unobtrusive, only seeking my attention to politely use hand signals to ask for permission to use the restroom and then to ask if she should prepare some lunch, both of which I agreed to. She prepared some passable turkey sandwiches--barbecue sauce on mine, but not on hers, which was a very practical consideration, given that she ate kneeling on the floor. This, at least, she seemed confident in, and I assumed she must have plenty of practice in domestic service.

I threw her her second curveball, if the sleeping arrangements could be considered the first, in the afternoon. I finished working for the day and closed out of the company's server-based workstation, then opened up a browser and navigated to one of my favorite porn sites.

She didn't make a sound, but I did hear how her breath caught for a moment. I'd very pointedly sat her in a position where she could see my screens easily. When I unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock, I think she stopped breathing altogether.

I navigated to some of my favorite videos, the same ones I'd been watching in anticipation of her arrival: amateur videos by other pet-owners, or possibly ordinary women pretending to be pets, moaning and squealing wordlessly as they sucked, rode, came on their masters' cocks.

I stroked myself slowly, indulging in the novelty of playing with myself while knowing her eyes were on me. It served a few purposes, not the least of which was to show her how I preferred to pleasure myself--I expected she had very little experience in pleasing a cock, and wanted to give her a good shot at it whenever she got up the courage to touch me.

When I did chance a look down at her, I think she barely noticed; her gaze was fixed on my hand moving across my shaft, her cheeks pinked with embarrassment, eyes wide with nerves and confusion. I was sure she'd expected to be fucked by now, and wondered how much she'd anticipated it as well as fearing it.

Even trying to draw it out, I only lasted about ten minutes; the knowledge of her presence got me too hot. I finished into a tissue and cleaned myself up, then tossed it into the trash and tucked myself back into my pants without comment. When I stood and gestured for her to follow me, her eyes were still big, and she was chewing on her lip. But she pushed herself to her feet and went with me obediently.

That evening, I heard another noise out of her. It was as she was pushing the dildo into herself: a half-swallowed little groan as it stretched her open. I smiled at the sound of it, and she immediately flushed bright red, avoiding my eyes.

I could recount the next week or so for you in detail, but the truth was that it went much the same, in the broad strokes. The change in her came, but it was slow, building day over day. It was there in the permanent flush that rose up under her skin. It was there in the way she shifted her weight a bit when kneeling beside me as if she needed to find a new angle to get comfortable, and in the way her hands stopped moving to cover herself, but instead brushed over her thighs and hips, knotting fitfully in the fabric draped near her crotch. It was there in the way her breathing changed when she watched me handle myself--no longer quick and nervous like a panicked rabbit, but deep and shaking, almost meditative.

And, most markedly, it was there in the moments that I could see her cunt. Especially in the evenings, as she put on her accessories, and in the mornings when she pulled the dildo out again; that was where the change was most visible--the way her thighs had dampened, the way her little clit had plumped up. I swear I even saw it twitch, the fifth night, as she slid the dildo home, her eyes closed and teeth buried in her lip like she was silencing a moan.

Before she could open her eyes, I leaned in and placed a hand on her hip, proprietary and familiar, and rubbed my thumb along the dip of it. Not anywhere near her clit, not in a way that risked giving her any more gratification than I intended, but it was a sensitive spot--somewhere that she wasn't used to being touched--and she gasped in surprise, her hips rolling forward and her whole body shuddering as her eyes flew open and found mine, and she looked startled and still a little too nervous.

So I just smiled at her again, and put the mittens on for her, and sent her to bed.

But that touch must have opened things up for her, must have made her admit to herself what she wanted--or needed--because the next morning, things were very, very different.

I woke to a sound that I couldn't quite place, a quiet creaking. I identified the source of it quickly enough: her room, of course. When I opened the door, I found her up on her knees, braced against one wall, with one of her hands underneath herself at a very awkward angle so that she could grind her cunt down onto the mitten. She was sweaty, her hair disheveled from rubbing against the wall in a way that suggested she'd been at it for a while, her eyes bright and feverish with need.

I laughed. She flushed a deep red, but--to her credit--didn't topple over backwards in a rush to hide what she'd been doing; she just awkwardly unknotted herself from her position and then moved to kneel in front of me, gnawing her lip, looking caught between the haze of unfulfilled arousal and anxiety. Maybe she worried that she'd be punished. She shouldn't have.

I made the decision on the fly to leave her mittens on that day. I took the dildo out for her--she had to get on her hands and knees to give me access, and her response was amazing, her back bowing as the length slid out of her, her breath stuttering on little moans as each ridge emerged, and a little line of slick drooled from her cunt to the floor.

And then I began our day as usual.

She tried, at first, to behave normally; she was a bit clumsier with the gloves on, of course, a little less graceful in her kneeling, and I think the fact that she was so wet between the thighs must have hardly helped as well, but she did her best. But there were some necessary changes, which I had anticipated when I made the decision but which I only saw hit her around mid-morning, when she first asked to use the restroom, and then hesitated, staring at me with wide eyes when I stood to go with her.

She looked at the mittens, then looked back at me, and then took a breath and went to the bathroom, letting me follow.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub while she did her business; she wasn't as shy about that as I'd have expected, but I think she must have been too wrapped up in thinking about the next part to worry about it.

The next part, of course, was where I folded up a square of toilet paper and--lightly and carefully--wiped her. Again to her credit, she controlled herself enough not to do anything so silly as try to hump into my hand as I cleaned her, but I could tell it was a struggle for her; her stomach jumped with tension and her breathing shook, her mittens knocking clumsily against the vanity and the wall as she attempted to brace herself to remain in position, squatted over the toilet to give me access.

I dropped the toilet paper into the toilet and then replaced it with my finger, running the pad of my fingertip between the swollen lips of her cunt. She made a quiet, sweet sound sound of surprise and I felt her flesh pulse against me, as if she were trying to draw my finger into herself.

I pulled my finger away and smiled up at her. She stared back, her gaze dazed and heated and not at all shy.

I stood up and washed my hands, and then led her back to my home office. She knelt even less gracefully this time, and shifted every few minutes, rubbing her thighs together as if she still had to pee.

I knew very well that it was another need entirely that was bothering her.

I made lunch for us that day--she couldn't, of course, with her hands in mittens--and fed hers to her by hand. Again, she was less shy than I had expected, and became promisingly bold as I fed her the last few bites of sandwich, catching the tips of my fingers between her lips with playful little kisses.

As the afternoon wore on, I expected some of her fire to die down, but her squirming continued, and I occasionally caught sight of her dragging one of the mittens across her thigh or stomach, like she was thinking again about trying to hump it. I wondered how close she'd come that way, if she'd been on the edge of coming.

When I closed out of my work programs and loaded up the first porn clip--a pet bouncing in her master's lap, moaning and gasping--she let out a quiet groan. I unbuttoned my pants, and she shifted half out of her kneeling position, hesitated, and then moved closer, until she could rest her chin on my thigh.

I paused, cock in hand, and looked down at her. "Do you want something?"

Her face cut briefly into a sharp, ironic look, because she knew that I knew exactly what she wanted, and I laughed. She narrowed her eyes at me, and then widened them and bit her lip in an obvious attempt to be enticing, before pressing her mouth to my jeans in an open, damp kiss.

"Do you think you're ready for this?" I asked, running a thumb up my cock. It was already harder just from having her so near and from the gratification I'd gotten from teasing her all day; I wondered if she noticed. Her eyes tracked my thumb and then caught on the head, eyeing the damp, glistening slit where my precome was starting to gather, and then she nodded and mouthed my hip again with just a bit of teeth. Emphasizing her desire without being demanding.

I hummed my approval and pushed back from my desk, giving her room to crawl under. It was clumsy, especially with her mittens on, and I had to move the trash bin out of her way before it tipped over, but then she was there: settled in the space under my desk, head between my knees, eyes fixed on my cock like it was all she'd been thinking about for hours.

It probably was.

"Go on," I encouraged. I still had it in my hand, since she didn't have her own to use, and I wasn't mean enough to make her try and figure things out with her mouth alone--at least not this first time. She hesitated for a second, just a flash of those nerves, and then she took a deep breath and leaned in and let me feed the head of it into her mouth.

It was a rookie blowjob, I'll admit it. That was to be expected; it was her first one, and we had to coordinate between my hand and her mouth, and she was clearly terrified of accidentally touching me with her teeth, resorting to mostly kittenish licks. But it wasn't a timid one: she dove for my cock like she wanted it, and when I got deep enough in her mouth to bump the back of her throat, she moaned and closed her eyes and shifted her hips like she was imagining me bottoming out somewhere else entirely. And that, that was more important than the prowess.

She could learn everything else, but the eagerness--I wanted that to be trained into her, bone-deep.

She didn't flinch from the taste of it, either, chasing my fluids and swiping her tongue across the slit over and over until I stopped her and redirected her to somewhere less sensitive. Even then, I came fast and hard: I grabbed her head when I did and shoved in again, ramming the back of her throat, and she gasped and choked and then, when I let her go, pulled back and coughed up semen, smeared it across her face as she tried to wipe it away with the mittens, but she wasn't mad. Her eyes were fever-bright and fixed on me, her face flushed with a frantic desire, her toes curled tight into her feet against the floor.

Once she stopped coughing and got control of her windpipes back, she leaned back against the walls of the desk that caged her in and let out a low, hoarse moan, her hips rolling like she was instinctively mimicking the movements of fucking, or maybe trying to copy what she'd seen in the videos I'd been exposing her to. She was so wet that there was a damp patch on the hardwood floor beneath her.

I almost regretted coming in her mouth, because I wanted to fuck her right then. But I'm not that old yet; I just needed a bit of time to recover.

"That was a good first attempt," I informed her, and she bit her lip and flushed deeper, rubbing at the inside of one of her thighs with one of the mittens. "But you do need to practice. Come on."

I pushed my chair out of the way and stood up, then held out a hand. She disentangled herself carefully from the desk and gave me her arm, and I helped her the rest of the way up. She was unsteady on her feet, probably from the hard floor under her knees as well as arousal, and I made a mental note to measure the space under my desk and to get a pad that would fit there, something to cushion her knees in the future.

Not that she was complaining. She was leaning towards me, like she wanted to lean into me but wasn't sure if that would be permitted. I brushed a proprietary hand over her hip and she gasped and nearly stumbled, would have fallen if I weren't holding her up. I laughed again and she whined and finally pressed in close to me, crowding me, which made it harder to walk but which very much satisfied the hunger I was feeling for her.

I brought her to my bedroom and retrieved the silicone dildo from its home in her bed, where it lived during the day after being retrieved from her ass and thoroughly washed. She looked at it, then looked at me--not confused, not nervous, just waiting.

"You're going to practice on this," I informed her. She looked at it again, then nodded.

That took some finagling, because I hadn't planned in advance; but my bed was low enough to the floor, and I was able to use the harness to strap it to a pillow. She knelt at the edge of the bed and draped her arms over the pillow to keep it in place, and then sucked it down like she had missed having something in her mouth, her eyes sliding shut as the silicone took my place. I stood next to her and watched, one hand running up and down her spine, and offered instruction.

"Use your lips to protect it from your teeth and to create a tighter seal," I said. It took a few seconds for my words to get through, but then she did it, humming quietly to herself as she found the right arrangement. "Press close with your tongue and suck. Feel your tongue moving against it." I watched her throat move as she swallowed. "Now take it as deep as you can."

As she did, I let my hand wander down further, brushing her ass, and then the plump lips of her cunt. She inhaled sharply through her nose and then had to pull off to cough.

I moved my hand back up to her back and rubbed until she was breathing well again. Then she looked up at me, her eyes big and dark, and shifted her hips. I smiled. "You want me to touch you again." It wasn't a question, but she nodded. "Then you'd better get back to practicing."