To Have, To Hold, And To Own

Molly licked her pet where her teeth had left indentations in her skin. She let her entire weight press Pixie down into the mattress. Her cock would remain inside for at least ten minutes. It had a knot. It wasn't a particularly large one, but it was a 'why not?' addition that Pixie adored. Pixie was pinned and trapped. Her owner's seed would remain inside of her long enough for her body to begin absorbing it. Nobody else could get inside.

The two of them sighed in tandem. They savored the afterglow of pure sexual synergy. Their mornings from this day forward would include two distinct miracles of science and psychology -- two different kinds of intimacy that allowed both of them to be selfish at the same time. Both of them, in their own ways, would strengthen their bonds and remind them of their places.

"We're getting married," Molly stated matter-of-factly. "I bred you. It's real, now. I own you. You're signing everything over to me. You're my bitch forever."

"Yes, Mistress," Pixie replied simply. The words were pure submission and pure love. A year ago, Molly would've been moved to tears. Instead, she felt a surge of dominant satisfaction. It felt wonderful. It felt exactly right.

Pixie shuddered and enjoyed a second orgasm. It was a tiny one, all things considered, but it was one that she'd never, ever forget.

* * * * * *

Eight months later, after the wedding, Molly led Pixie by her braid-leash to their honeymoon suite. They'd just finished the public re-collaring ceremony. Pixie had surrendered all three of her holes to Molly's throbbing, red cock in front of all of their gathered friends and loved ones. They were both cum drunk. They both wanted more. Molly had one more surprise for her pet, though. She led Pixie to the bathroom, and showed her her wedding present.

It was the fanciest litter box money could buy. Pixie used it immediately. Molly watched. Pixie watched her watch. She silently communicated total vulnerability and complete trust to her owner. Molly gave the merest nod. She understood.

Molly looked at her pet's cute cat ears, her green cat-eye lenses, her quasi-permanent whisker tattoos, the tail fastened just above her tailbone, and her simple nakedness besides -- save, of course, for the collar and the leash. She decided it was the most beautiful sight she'd ever beheld. Her own hot girl-cum flowed out of Pixie and down into the synthetic sand, combining with kitty pee and kitty poop.

Molly's cock swelled up to half hardness. Pixie saw, and her tongue stuck out of her mouth. She felt hungry for her favorite thing -- thirsty, too, for the second kind of delicious, heavy cream that she got to drink down every single day.

Molly hadn't spoken to Maxine in six months. She knew that in just a few more days, Maxine would exist solely as a legal fiction, and one without a name of her own. 'Pixie Hansen-Stone' would be a convenient fig leaf for the Coastal Alliance to point to, just to prove to everyone -- to itself, most of all -- that Pixie wasn't actually property, and wasn't actually a happily empty-headed kitty-cat.

Pixie knew the truth. Molly did too. The new, shiny red collars had 'Pixie' engraved onto their gem-shaped tags, followed by her owner's name and contact information. The faux-gemstone studs around the outside spelled out "Property Of Molly Stone." It was an unusual choice, but then, Pixie was an unusual pet. They were an unusual pair. Pixie didn't need everybody to know her name. She needed everybody to know that she was owned, and by whom. Molly felt much the same. No compromise had been necessary.

During their honeymoon, Pixie wore the ruby-studded collar every day. It was their favorite, despite being an artistic tragedy. Red on red was a clear aesthetic blunder. It made perfect sense, however, to anyone who really knew the pair, and who knew about Molly's very special cock.

Pixie's owner was incredible, and Pixie knew she deserved her. They both knew they deserved each other.