Sydney's Dogs Ch. 03

Zaide, however, paused to inspect some of the smaller devices. "What about these?" he asked her.

There was a small buzzing bullet attached to a rubbery ring that could be worn on the cock, around two fingers, or even on his tongue, and he knew it would drive Miss Sydney wild, and several sets of Ben-Wa balls, different sizes and shapes.

"I really wouldn't know what to do with them," she confessed after reading the packaging. "But if you want to teach me, by all means, get them."

Smiling to himself as he thought up different ways to stimulate her with those small things, he selected a variety of small toys and added them to his basket.

The next area of the store contained a wide variety of BDSM accessories. Zaide stood back, letting his co-attendant take the lead in his specialty. Talon quickly picked out a studded collar and held it up for Sydney's approval.

"Better than the bathrobe sashes we've been using," she replied.

Talon nodded and added a leash to the set. Next pulled out a wide riding crop. "You might like this, as it does not leave significant damage like a belt or a whip."

"Are you sure? I know that they used to abuse horses with these things," Sydney commented skeptically.

"Usually in cases of abuse, the horses were hit in the face or with something much more brutal than a crop," he explained. "Crops are designed to create pressure and noise, not pain."

"Point," she consented. "But how does that satisfy your...desires?"

"Just because they create more noise than pain does not mean that they cannot create pain at all," Talon said with a small smile. "And as always, my first priority is to your comfort. I know you are opposed to the idea of drawing blood and leaving scars. This will do neither."

"Makes sense. Ok, I'm game." she nodded. Talon slid the crop into his almost full bag.

"Should we also get some real rope?" Zaide asked. "They have a selection of Japanese rope right here." He indicated a shelf with knotted cuffs and lengths of thick, silky rope coiled and ready for use.

"You're right," Sydney agreed. "How much do you think we need?"

"Two at least," Zaide suggested.

"Probably four," Talon advised.

"Six it is," she decided. Zaide dutifully selected the lengths of rope.

"Cuffs too?" he asked.

"I was kinda hoping for the leather cuffs," she replied with a small blush. "I just think they look cooler."

"They're right here," Talon offered, selecting two pair of studded wide bands of leather connected by two D-rings and a carabineer clip. "These you can use just as cuffs or secure a rope to the D-rings for a variety of options."

"Sexy and creative," she smiled. Talon stowed the cuffs in his shopping bag.

"While we're here," Zaide interjected, caught between irritation that Talon was getting more goodies and a slightly sadistic desire to be Miss Sydney's minion as she tormented Talon, "Do you want to blindfold him or gag him?"

"I don't know. Do you like that sort of thing, Talon?" she wanted to know.

"They would be devices of sweet torment," he replied, his voice low with lust and seduction.

Sydney blushed again. "Ok, let's pick out some." Together, the three of them chose two blind folds, one red and one black, and a solid rubber ball gag. Both shopping bags were now full. "Anything else you can think of while we're here?"

Both men thought for a moment before shaking their heads. Already, the scope of what they had chosen for pleasure with Miss Sydney was making them lightheaded as all the blood in their bodies pooled in their groins.

"Nothing? Well, then let's get going." she lead the way to the cash register. Even though the woman at the counter had been working at the shop for several years, it was rare to ring up a purchase of such scope for a beautiful woman and two extremely hansom men.

"Have fun," the cashier said meaningfully as they left the store.

Back in the car, Sydney broached the all-important question of the night. "So, what do we do first?"

Talon and Zaide exchange a competitive glance. They had both interpreted the question as "who does she do first?" and both wanted to be the first.

"What strikes your fancy this night?" Zaide asked diplomatically.

"Well, I was thinking about those massage oil candles," she replied, her voice giddy with excitement.

Zaide felt a pang of disappointment. He had been trained in receiving pain in the sexual arena, of course, all attendants were, but it was not his preference; it was Talon's. Hot wax would probably mean that Talon would be the first, perhaps even the only lucky one tonight.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Talon said, thrilled with anticipation.

"I was also thinking that those edible body paints would be fun to try," she suggested. Now it was Zaide's turn to feel a thrill. She continued, "I know we got a lot of bondage type stuff, but I was thinking about holding off on that—at least the hard core bits—until things are a little more settled. I mean, I'm bringing Brandt home tomorrow, and trying to help him recover more. I just don't want a blood-curdling scream from my bedroom to send him into remission."

"Then wouldn't tonight, before he comes back, be the perfect time to experiment with that?" Talon pressed.

"It would be if I wasn't so darned tired," she sighed. "Seriously, it's been one orgasm after another for two days in a row. Normally I'm lucky if I get one good orgasm a month!"

"We can take it easy tonight," Zaide promised, pleased.

"OH! I almost forgot!" Sydney cried. "Dinner!"

"I can make dinner at home," Zaide reminded her.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked concerned.

"Cooking refreshes me," he replied confidently.

"Then let's go home," she decided. "I know I promised a movie, but it's getting late, and all this shopping has actually made me hungry."

"Me too," Zaide growled with a wink.

Sydney blushed and drove home, trying not to rush. Back at the house, she instructed Talon to take all the bags to her room. Zaide quickly worked magic in the kitchen, grilling thin strips of steak and veggies to make fresh and festive fajitas.

"You're a wizard," Sydney complimented him, watching him work in awe.

He grinned and casually lined up another pepper. Showing off his speed, he diced it in a few seconds. "I could show you how, if you like."

"I got that set of knives as a Christmas gift from a coworker. I've only used them three times, and each time I cut myself," she explained. "You handle them like a samarai. There's no way I can compete."

"It's not about competition," he replied, pulling out a tomato. "It's about technique. Please, let me show you."

Reluctantly she drew near. Zaide wrapped his arms around her. One of his large hands folded over hers and around the handle of the blade, and the other wrapped around the hand that held the strips of yellow bell pepper.

"Now, you start with the tip down, like this." He guided her hands. "The first rule is to only move one thing. Either move the knife or the vegetable. Never both at the same time. See?"

Sydney tried to focus on the cutting but with every little move, she could feel Zaide's muscles through his shirt. His strong arms were setting her on fire. She had never felt this way before. She should be trying to learn without cutting herself, but all she wanted to do was turn around and tear his shirt off.

Her attention was quickly brought back to the present as Zaide suddenly sucked in his breath and let go of her.

"What's wrong?" she demanded.

"Nothing, I'm fine," he assured her, running his left hand under cold tap water.

"Oh hagfish, I cut you, didn't I?" She ran to the bathroom without waiting for an answer and brought back the first aid kit. His finger was wrapped in a paper towel as he tried to staunch the bleeding. "Give."

He handed over his wounded appendage obediently. Sydney might not have any talent for cooking or cleaning or anything particularly domestic, but she was pretty handy at triage. As fast as Zaide had sliced the pepper, she cleaned, anointed, and bandaged the small but deep slice in his finger.

"There. I'm so sorry. This was all my fault. I wasn't even thinking about slicing peppers," she admitted.

"What were you thinking about, then?" Zaide asked, even though he could easily guess.

"You," she whispered. Finally, dared to look into his eyes and was instantly lost in their intensity. Zaide wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply. Her hands explored his chiseled muscles as she kissed back with as much passion. He walked her backwards to the kitchen table and gently pushed her onto the cool surface. Her legs naturally opened and wrapped around his hips. They ground into each other, seeking friction even through their clothes.

When Sydney came up for air, she remembered that Talon should be back from dropping their purchases in her room any second. He was probably listening to them in the hallway, waiting for them to finish. Embarrassment washed away enough of the hormones that she could think again. Zaide felt the shift in her and chivalrously allowed her to sit up.

"Um...maybe the kitchen table isn't the best place for this," she offered, lamely.

"What are you comparing it to?" he asked, his breathing heavy and his eyes begging for more. "Because I think the kitchen table is the perfect place to dine on your sweetness."

The lure of his lips was too much and soon she was kissing him again.

Talon peaked around the corner again and sighed resignedly. He could not fault Zaide for wanting Miss Sydney all to himself, but he couldn't help but feel just a little left out. Still, he reminded himself briskly, Zaide had given him the first night with Miss Sydney—a coveted thing among competing attendants—so it was only fair that he allow his co-attendant this night without objection. But he would be sure to be close at hand, should Miss Sidney need him.

Zaide's lips trailed over every inch of skin as he slowly disrobed her. Everywhere his lips touched, it felt like he left a glowing ember of desire until her whole body was on fire. He removed her blouse and kissed his way down her stomach, taking a moment to kiss around her navel. Then he left her mid-section and paused in his ministrations to unzip her denim skirt and slide it over her legs. Then he caught one leg and stretched it up high so he could bring her ankle to his lips, pinning her to the table top in the process. Then he kissed down her calf, over her knee, and up her thigh.

Her scent called to him and he continued kissing his way towards the source of the scent, barely covered by a lacy black thong. He clawed at it, pulled it away from her sensitive parts. She smelled so delicious, like creamy honey and spice. His tongue darted between her sensitive folds and she instantly cried out in ecstasy. He lapped at her wet channel, savoring her unique and maddening flavor. He couldn't get enough of it. Zaide buried his face between her folds as he quickly discarded his pants and undergarments. She writhed with excitement and rapture, her fingers playing over his smoothed shaved scalp, urging him on.

Finally he paused to pull his t-shirt over his head. Then he kissed his way back up her body. With one hand holding his weight off of her, he stroked her body with the other. When he reached her thighs, his hand slipped to caress the soft inner thigh, and he slowly inserted one finger deep into her, testing her readiness. She moaned with pleasure. He stroked gently before adding a second finger, scissoring them to stretch her and bring her even more pleasure. She ground her hips against his hand, little mewing noises indicating her desire. He withdrew his fingers and positioned his hips so that his erection nudged the entrance to her secret haven. Instantly, it was slick with her arousal.

Watching her face, still amazed that he belonged to her, he eased into her part way. She gasped and held her breath while she adjusted to his girth. Her tight heat sucked all coherent thought from his mind. He was only aware of the desperate need to please her in every way possible. He pushed forward, impaling her slowly. Her hips moved and bucked under him. He pushed deeper still while nuzzling her breast, teasing the nipple with tongue and teeth.

He started a slow rhythm, and she wrapped her legs around his hips to better accommodate him. She was drowning in pleasure as he withdrew and pushed forward, almost crushing her into the hard table, but that somehow made it all the more exciting. Delicious friction spurred them both forward towards orgasm, beyond all sense and reason. They clung to each other as she screamed and arched against him, her muscles squeezing him until he shuddered with release.

Sydney felt frozen, her back permanently bowed by pleasure. Zaide panted and gasped before pulling himself upright. After a long moment, he found the strength to leave the sanctuary of her body. After a few more moments, she found the energy to unwind her muscles drape her legs over the edge of the table. He pulled her upright and rained kisses on her face.

This was his treasure, his meaning in life, more precious than anything else on the face of the earth.

"I apologize, Miss Sydney," he panted. "We did not get to use any of the new purchases."

"That's ok, I don't mind," she sighed contentedly. "But eating at this table will never be the same."

Zaide just smiled and kissed her again. Finally, they parted and recovered their clothes. Zaide washed his hands, taking care not to get the bandaged finger wet, and went back to cooking. Sydney knew she was blushing, but every time she glanced at the table, the heat rose in her again.

"Zaide? Do you think maybe we could have dinner in bed tonight?" she suggested.

"I don't see why not," he replied with a grin.

"I'll meet you in my room in ten minutes," she said and she ran upstairs. She quickly rinsed away the evidence of their lovemaking and debated wearing the little-red-riding-hood costume, but cowardice got the better of her. Then she forcefully reminded herself that Zaide had picked it out so it stood to reason that he wanted to see her in it. She forced herself to put it on. Her hands trembled as she hooked the skirt behind her and shrugged into the tiny off-the-shoulder blouse. She had just swirled the short cape around her shoulders when Zaide entered.

"Oh my," he said. He put the two plates of food down on the dresser before he dropped them. Then he turned back to her, looking very wolfish. "Where are you going, little girl?"

"Um..." she giggled before she remembered who she was pretending to be. "Well, I suppose I'm going to grandmother's house."

"I don't think so," he replied, gliding close to her. "I think you're coming with me."

"Oh mister wolf!" she cried in mock drama. "Are you going to eat me up?"

"Count on it," he growled and then threw her onto the bed. He leapt on top of her and kissed her ravenously. She wouldn't have known from his ardor that they had been intimate not even fifteen minutes before.

Zaide took his time as he played the aggressive wolf. He gently nibbled her neck, pulled down her peasant's blouse to suckle her nipples, and kissed his way down her exposed stomach. Finally, he dove under her skirt and she lost sight of his head. He lapped at her wet folds, playing her like an instrument until she writhed and screamed. He took his time, nipping at her thighs when she threatened to close them against his insatiable mouth. Finally, after her second shuddering orgasm, he took the time to remove his clothes and then positioned himself once again to plunder her secret places.

She looked up at him dazed and glowing, her costume attractively disheveled, and he sank into her with a cry of victory. She moaned as he filled her so perfectly. She couldn't do anything but accept new waves of pleasure as he thrust hard and fast. Yet another orgasm seized hold of her and her core muscles gripped him tightly. He howled wolf-like in her ear as he exploded inside her.

When it was over, he dropped to her side and pulled her close. They snuggled together for a moment while they recovered.

"So," Sydney asked after her breath returned. "Why is it that you and Talon aren't all pathetic?"

"That's an unexpected question," Zaide chuckled.

She poked him in the ribs, but then clarified, "In all the sex-slave erotica I've read, the slaves are pathetic masochists. The master or mistress is either a cold hedonist or trying to bring the slave to a new understanding of their individuality as a human being. But you and Talon are both so...normal. I mean, we just...you were so passionate," she offered, pathetically. She wanted to say he had just fucked her faster and harder and better than any other man in her entire life, but that seemed like an inappropriate thing to say.

"The PPA does not intentionally break the spirits of beautiful people. Their training is rigorous and difficult, but they only accept select individuals to be attendants," he explained.

"What does the training involve?" she asked.

"Standard training includes sexual mechanics, anatomy, acupressure and reflexology—for pleasure and relaxation purposes only, you understand—stamina and strength, first aid training for ourselves or co-attendants or older masters with weak hearts, that sort of thing," he replied. "Even basic psychology and profiling. And of course acting and roll playing."

"Roll playing?" she repeated, surprised. She shouldn't be, considering, but it seemed weird that they were trained in that.

"A great deal of what an attendant does is putting on the right face and the right manors for the situation. It might be the stoic butler or simpering slave or intimidating body guard."

"Or romantic, wolfish lover?" she teased.

"Yes, that too," he smiled, a little self-conscious. "As attendants, it's our job to know what roll to take and when. It's not an easy job, which is why the training is so difficult and why candidates are so heavily screened and thoroughly tested."

"So what makes a good candidate?" she wondered.

"For starters, attendants have naturally submissive B-type personalities. They must be physically appealing, naturally intuitive, raised without much spirituality, and the sort no one will miss when they disappear," he said. "Most of the attendants were homeless orphans in bad neighborhoods, third world countries, or straight up refugees without a place to call home. The rest were young children sold to the agency by their families."

"Who would sell their own child?!?" Sydney cried, appalled.

"My parents would," he replied softly.

"Oh, Zaide, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be," he comforted her, hugging her close. "My baby sister was ill—disfigured from birth. My parents had no money, less food, and when the agency approached them for my sale, it was either giving me up or all four of us would starve to death."

"What a horrible choice," she murmured, tears pricking in her eyes.

"It turned out alright," he insisted. "My parents received enough money to better their situation and help my baby sister, and I ended up here, with you. I wouldn't wish it to be any different."

"What about Talon?" she whispered. "Do you know his story?"

"I know the stories of most of the attendants. I believe he was an orphan in an opium den when the agency picked him up."

"And Brandt?"

"Orphaned by a terrorist bombing in Ireland," he replied. "I think he's legally dead in that country."

"I had no idea." The morality of her technical ownership was turning out to be more gray than black-and-white. Sure, it was easy to say slavery was heinous, but without the PPA, all three men would almost surely have died horrible deaths as children. Suddenly, she was glad of her decision to purchase all three men, and not just for lustful reasons. "But still," she persisted. "How is it that you're so...happy with your situation."