This is part two of an ongoing series introducing Reilly Page to a life of pet play, including intense scenes of humiliation, degradation, cum play, BDSM, anal play, gangbangs, orgies, threesomes, public masturbation and sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, and many other things. If these things make you uncomfortable, don't bother with this series. It will be told in duel points of view throughout the series. The first part of this story detailed how Ms Reilly Page lands herself in the position of being nothing but an owned pet for Mr. and Mrs. Jameson Matthews. The contract and rules were outlined, and she now finds herself arriving home with him after her first exhibition and public display of cumming. I highly suggest you start at the beginning of this series to understand their arrangement and who they are. The rest of the parts will detail the quick decent into delicious madness that comes from being owned and dominated and craving being used as a cum dump. Feedback is what drives this train, so please leave comments and feedback!
Reilly
I stare back at him with half lidded eyes and an exhausted but satisfied expression when he glances over at me. "Did you enjoy that, Pet?" he asks.
My jaw still slack and my chest heaving, I slowly blink and drop my eyes to look down at the state of my lewdly displayed body again.
"She needs to work on her response time," the woman sneers in a disapproving tone.
"I'll work on that with her, but give her a minute, Little Devil," he states. "I'm not even sure she can find words in her current state."
"Well... We're boarding again, so I'll see you when I land," the woman replies.
"Sounds good," James casually states. "I love you. See you soon."
"Bye. I love you, too."
The call disconnects, and silence once again resumes as he drives through the fifth level of the garage and climbs to the sixth.
My panted breath begins to slow, and post-orgasmic shame begins to settle deep into my gut as I replay the events of the past half hour in my mind.
Someone out there has a video of me being aggressively finger fucked to the point of a squirting orgasm by this man that literally owns me in the front seat of a car in the middle of a traffic jam. The most intense orgasm I've ever experienced is saved on some random guy's phone that he can do anything with! What if he puts me online? My naked body is going to be plastered all over the fucking internet!
My breath quickens, and my mind races as my stomach churns inside of me at the thought.
"Your face was covered," James comments, seeming to read my mind. Wiping his wet hand across my tits and on the inside of my thigh first, he finishes drying it on the leg of his pants as he pulls up to an attendant's booth when he reaches the seventh level, rolling down his window. "Don't forget that you're still under instructions to not move," he reminds me, dashing the flicker of hope that I was going to be allowed to put my dress back on now. My face flames red again as a young black attendant in the booth glances past James, and his eyes land on my displayed naked body.
"New pet, Mr. Matthews?" he asks, a wide grin overtaking his face.
"Yeah, and this one made a mess in here. I need a full detail."
"If you won't be needing it again this evening, I'll have it ready for you by morning," the attendant states, and I feel his eyes burning into me even with mine cast down watching my stomach rise and fall with each ragged breath.
"You're a good man, Darius," James states with a sharp nod. "How do you want your tip?" Reaching up, James clicks on the car's dome light, illuminating the interior and casting light on me. Hooking his finger under my chin, he directs my face toward Darius.
Darius's tongue moistens his dry lips as his eyes scan my body. "That's way better than cash," he comments, making James chuckle. "I'm off at seven."
"See you then," James states, rolling up the window and pulling forward when Darius opens the gate with the push of a button.
"You said no other men in Phase One," I choke out through a trembling, cracked voice.
"Shhh," James shushes me with a finger to his lips as he pulls into a parking space. "Put your dress and shoes back on," he instructs, reaching into the back seat and retrieving my clothes before dropping my dress on my lap and keeping the bra.
Finally closing my legs and sitting up, I do as I'm instructed as he exits the car, walking around to my side. My hands are shaking, and I feel like I'm high as I grab my purse from the back seat and stand on wobbly legs when he opens my door.
"Your phone, too."
"My phone? What about it?" I ask.
"Give it to me."
My eyebrows furrowing, I stare back at him for a moment before my hand slides into my purse to fish out the device. "I'm going to need to let people know where I am," I state.
James huffs a laugh and takes the phone when I hold it out to him. "Who are 'people'? Who exactly do you think is going to send out a search party for you?" he asks, holding the phone up to my face to unlock it and then quickly scrolling through my call log and recent text threads. "From what I've learned about you, you make it a point to distance yourself from everyone," he continues, leading the way as we walk through the parking level. "You have no friends... Likely because girls don't want to be friends with whores who will fuck their men. The only people you talk to are the men you fuck."
My cheeks burn with humiliation at the truth of what he states as he powers the phone off and slides it into his pocket. Stopping outside a set of closed elevator doors, he presses the call button and deposits my bra into a nearby trash can.
"That was super expensive," I quietly mutter.
"Rule seven," he states flatly.
Standing next to him, my fingers nervously toy with the strap of my purse that hangs from my shoulder.
"Are you fidgeting?" he asks just as the elevator dings.
"No, Sir," I instantly respond, stilling my fingers immediately.
"Good girl," he replies, placing his hand on the small of my back and guiding me into the now open elevator. "Press 30."
I press the top button on the panel and step back, standing next to him as still as possible as the elevator begins to carry us upward.
"$60,000 can buy you a lot of bras," he states, succeeding in smoothing a few of the frayed edges of my nerves with humor. A barely audible huff of a laugh pushes out of me for the first time since I met him, and he smirks when I look up at him. Silence falls over us again, the hum of the elevator filling the air.
"I have a question," I quietly state in a timid voice. "Well... Two of them actually."
"Ask them."
"When will you send my rent money to Dustin?"
"And the second question?" he volleys back, not answering the first.
"Um... Okay..." I mutter. "My second question is, how will you, like, explain this to him about why you're paying my rent and where I am disappearing to?"
"It's already been taken care of," he states coolly, making my confused gaze snap up to him. We ride the elevator in silence until the doors open on the 30
th
floor, and he guides me out into a short hallway with a single large, white door at the end. "Press 7-6-9-8-4-3 and then the check mark."
Stepping forward, I do as instructed and hear the door lock click open. Glancing back at him, he gestures with his hand for me to proceed, and I cautiously open the door, peeking inside before stepping into the large foyer area.
"Welcome home," he casually states, tossing his keys into a bowl on a small entryway table as he begins unbuttoning his dress shirt. Emptying his pockets onto the table, he places his wallet and my cell phone next to his and unbuckles his belt, leaving it undone in its loops. Shrugging out of his shirt, and leaving himself in an untucked, sleeveless undershirt and slacks, he sits down on a chair next to the door and begins to untie his shoes.
My eyes scan his heavily tattooed arms and watch his muscles move with every motion of his hands as he removes his shoes. Beautifully rich red roses contribute the only color to the black and gray artwork wrapping one of his arms, their petals detailed with veins, shadows, and drops of dew, and their twisted stems boasting sharp, realistic looking thorns. The name Matthews is written along the outside of his forearm, rose bush vines weaving around the cursive lettering.
A shattered hourglass occupies his left bicep surrounded by intricate filigree and dark clouds that wrap up onto his shoulder and around the inside of his arm, leading into the mane of a realistically detailed portrait of a lion on the inside of his forearm.
I feel my stomach flutter at how gorgeous he is, despite his calloused, chauvinistic behavior. A stirring inside of me makes my head swim as I watch his broad back and shoulders move.
Fuck, he's hot,
my mind swoons as I clench my inner muscles.