Page 17 of The Family Pet

I shuddered as he lightly stroked me, and pleasure chased off some of the terrible sensation swirling inside me.

“You’re going to be on your knees and ready for Ridge to fuck that greedy hole of yours, aren’t you? You’re going to love being our fuck toy. You’ll be taken care of here. You’ll be trained and learn how to be the best pet there is. You’re a purebred animal, and only the best comes into my house to be touched by my family.” He bit right above my collar on the left side of my neck. The sensation had me hissing and scrabbling at his arm where he’d looped it around my middle.

My hips bucked and I couldn’t stop. He sped up his strokes on my precum-slicked shaft. He kept whispering filth in my ear. The words stopped making sense as I strained toward finishing. After a while he ground his hard dick on my ass, and I melted against his front, sagging into his embrace.

“There is a good pup. So pretty, Saint. So docile. You’ve always been so fucking handsome, and now you’re mine,” he growled in my ear.

The words hit me weird—they were so gratifying. I arched, spraying cum all over my new bed. I shuddered through the jolts of heat that rioted through my groin and shook my muscles, then glanced toward the camera lens in the corner. Is Ridge watching? Uncle Bowie kissed me and wiped my cum on my abs before rubbing it into my skin.

“Go to sleep, pup,” he said, then dragged me roughly against his chest. I closed my eyes and drifted off while he softly thrust his trapped dick against my ass, half wishing he would fuck me again.

* * *

The next morning, I woke up alone and felt like hell warmed over. Every muscle in my body ached as if I’d been kicked down a set of stairs all over again. My eyes felt gritty from crying and my tongue was strangely dry. My ass felt oddly empty, and I realized the plug I’d fallen asleep wearing was missing.

I fell out of the little doggy bed and went to the fridge where I fumbled out the bottle of water I’d opened last night and chugged until it was gone. I froze when I noticed a simple wooden box sitting on the floor nearby, but when I looked inside there were clothes and a small dish with two pills in it. At first, I was horrified. Does Uncle Bowie want me drugged now? But upon closer inspection the small pinkish-tan pills turned out to be ibuprofen, and I gratefully swallowed them down with yet another bottle of water.

“Take those clothes and get showered. The bathroom you will use is directly outside of the playroom door on the right. Hurry. You’re doing something with me today.” I flinched and glared at the camera lens, and Uncle Bowie’s warm chuckle left me feeling hollow inside. “As soon as you’re cleaned up, go to the kitchen and eat breakfast. The staff has food ready for you. Why are you still sitting there?”

Fury ate at me as I snatched the box of clothes and rushed out of the doghouse with it. I considered crawling to the bathroom, but figured since I was getting dressed, I should be able to get away with walking, and besides, I didn’t care much. My knees were starting to hurt. It felt weird to stand upright like a man, and I hadn’t been a “pup” for long. Dread settled into me. How easy would it be to get lost in this craziness?

In the bathroom I slung the box onto the gray marble vanity counter and unbuckled the collar on my neck, sticking my tongue out.

“You’re getting punished for that later. Put it back on after you shower.”

I sighed and fought not to roll my eyes as I tossed the collar beside the box of clothes. Was the entire house wired for Uncle Bowie to spy on everyone? Or did only I get that pleasure? I wanted to ask but wasn’t sure I truly wanted to know.

The bathroom was simple with only a glassed-in shower, sink, and toilet, but I didn’t need much more than that. I rushed through getting ready and dressed but refused to put the collar back on. Instead, I stuck the leather in my pocket and headed downstairs to follow Uncle Bowie’s instructions. I’d barely finished a bowl of oatmeal while standing at the stainless steel island with my face burning—the kitchen staff refused to make eye contact with me—when Uncle Bowie arrived.

My breath caught because his fresh cologne was bright and sexy, and his smooth-shaven face looked supple and touchable. I trembled as he got closer, and he didn’t hesitate, just jammed his hand into my pocket. I stood there, face scalding, as he dragged the collar out, then buckled it around my neck again. He was careful to get the collar just right around me so that it didn’t cut into my skin; although, I wasn’t sure why he cared to be so kind on that one thing.

“Better,” he said with a smirk. “Walk with me.”

Humiliation kept my gaze focused on the floor as I followed him. He paused near the front door to make me put on a black leather coat that I couldn’t help but notice matched the collar. We walked out of the house to a red Yukon Denali. A man opened the back passenger door for Uncle Bowie, and he gestured for me to climb in first, which I did, and then I slid over to the other side. The brown leather seats were soft and the interior smelled good. I took a deep breath and enjoyed the small pleasure, but Uncle Bowie noticed me doing it and raised an eyebrow, ruining the moment. Embarrassment had me glancing out the window. The driver started the car forward nearly immediately.

Uncle Bowie tapped my shoulder, and when I looked at him, he casually gestured at the floor.

“On your knees.”

“Now?” I hissed, wildly darting a look at the driver.

He only stared at me until I crawled over to where he pointed between his thighs. He dragged his dick out of his suit pants and it wasn’t hard yet, but he glared as he put a hand on the back of my head and shoved my face toward it. I opened my mouth and sucked him down, rolling his soft flesh between my lips with the tip of my tongue.

“Keep your hands on my thighs,” he said, tone cold, like he was talking about how the stock market was performing for the day and it was below his expectations. I clenched my hands against his strong legs, and he slapped his palms over them, then slid his fingers up until he held my wrists. I bobbed on him, getting small bursts of flavor—precum and hints of muskiness. It didn’t take long for his dick to plump and stretch my lips.

The driver sneezed, and I froze, panic setting in. Uncle Bowie took over and thrust his dick deep into my mouth, treating me like nothing more than the fuck toy he’d informed me I would become last night. I gagged on him, but he didn’t relent, forcing his way between my lips fast and hard. Every now and then he battered the back of my throat, and I tried to soften up and let him in. When he finally slipped down farther, he let out a pleased hum that had my dick responding. I moaned, and he shoved deeper into my throat, cutting off the sound.

The sensation set off my gag reflex. I didn’t mind him doing what he was doing, but my body tried to force him out while I began to panic. He unloaded, and I couldn’t taste it, but I could feel his dick swelling and twitching, and my hips thrust forward searching for friction in sympathy. When he pulled out, I tried to reach for my dick because it was pressing firmly against my pants and I needed relief, but he held me still.

“No, bad pup. That isn’t what you’re here for.” There was amusement in his eyes, as if he loved that he could get me hard, and I was swamped with a bizarre mixture of pleasure and hatred. He held my wrists tighter and tilted his head at the seat I’d abandoned to service him. I moved to the spot, and he restrained my wrists a little longer.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he murmured, eyes flashing a warning.

I nodded and that seemed to be enough for him. He tucked his dick back in his pants and relaxed, letting his eyelids flutter closed. Need twisted in my gut and I was furious at myself as I stared out the window. Why was I listening instead of fighting? Oh, yeah, the fucking money that was saving my neck. I sighed.

Not long later we arrived at Uncle Bowie’s office. He’d rented out a floor in the Divine Conglomerate’s building, which was all mirrored glass and steel elegance soaring toward the sky. I followed him into the opulent lobby dominated by a black wooden desk and felt like I was going to melt down because while my dick had deflated a bit, I still had a semi and could feel it bumping around uncomfortably while I walked.

He had to sign me in. I barely registered handing over my driver’s license. After that awful experience—both me and the receptionist pretended my dick wasn’t a noticeable bulge—we were allowed to get into an elevator. We exited into the small greeting area outside Uncle Bowie’s office, which was manned by his assistant, who seemed permanently annoyed with me. He’d always acted as if I was only one step up from dirt. I’d met him several times throughout my life, since he worked closely with Uncle Bowie. This morning was no different. He raked his gaze over me and shook his blond head at Uncle Bowie as he slapped a hand on his hip.