[#271] The Pet Girl

Melody opened her mouth to question me, but it was quickly silenced with a pacifier.  She looked up at me and sucked softly, her hair tied up in pigtails and her tits out.  The only thing I let her wear today was a diaper, wrapped tightly around her hips and bulging between her legs.  Her tail flicked around excitedly, but her ears bent down in shame.

"Today, my pet, you don't speak.  You listen.  You do what you're commanded to do.  Do you understand?"

Softly, Melody nodded her head, causing the bell on her collar to jingle.  Excellent.  Time for some fun.

"I like it when my pets do cute things," I narrated out-loud, "I like it when they play on the floor with toys, or when they run around chasing a laser dot, I like it when there's catnip, I like it when they stretch, and scratch. But you, my darling Melody, I think I want something else from you. Go fetch, okay? Bring me Mister Cummingston."

Melody sucked harder on the pacifier as realization washed over her.  Then she scampered out of the room and came back a minute later with a large stuffed teddy bear.  It was almost as big as she was, and made her look positively tiny.

"On the bed," I ordered, and my naked pet crawled onto my bed with the teddy bear in her arms.  Sometimes - when she was a good girl - I let her sleep at the foot of my bed instead of her cage.  She looked at it with reverence as she set the bear down on my sheets.

"There's a good girl, up on the bed, you noticed Mister Cummingston moving around and you wanna tackle him, you wanna pin him to the ground, hunt him, maul him, show your dominance over him. Show me, show me how my wild little panther does that, go on, don't be shy now."

And she wouldn't. Be shy, that is. Melody yearned for my attention. My affection. My approval.

I watched as Melody pinned the teddy bear to the bed, gripping him by the shoulders, and positioning her knees on either side of him.  The fluff of the teddy bear pressed between her legs, against the thickness of her diaper, and I saw a shiver run up her spine.  She sucked harder on the pacifier and looked up at me tentatively, a blush on her cheeks.

"You want to thrust yourself against Mister Cummingston?" I asked her, but she knew better than to respond.  She merely looked with pleading eyes and low ears. "Fill your diaper, make it hot and wet.  Then you can grind it into your teddy bear.  That's an order."

My pet girl was very good at her pet tricks. She could lick my feet, she could play fetch in the yard, she could worship between my legs, she could get me my morning paper. And when it came to her bodily functions, wetting, messing, cumming? She could performand on command.

I told her to wet, and she wet.

And when she'd started to grind, to mewl and paw at Mister Cummingston, looking up at me with needy eyes, sucking desperately on her binkie, I pondered telling her to cum.

...nah. Not yet. She had a lot of energy to burn, first - after all, how else was I supposed to keep her from humping our dinner guests tonight?

I'd make her wait for it.