Extending the Milf List

No More Mr. Nice Guy

The pet care thing sounds much simpler than it is. Like many labels applied even properly, it disguises the manifest complexity of the situation as it exists in reality. I ain't talking about cats and dogs, numbskulls. It testifies once more to the aphorism I had encountered and was still learning the truth of: Own possessions and those possessions own you. So it seems it is with the advent of a pet possession such as Candy.

Sleeping Wednesday night was interesting. At first, Candi refused to get into bed with me but curled up on the floor again. Finally I pulled rank.

"Who owns whom here?" I asked the air over the woman lying on the floor beside the bed. Mavis was in the other room. This was private and I think she understood that.

Candi pointed at me and then at her chest right between her almost mouthful tits.

I nodded agreement. "So when I say I want you in this bed, shouldn't you do like I want?"

For along moment, like seven breaths, Candi stared at me and finally, with a big fucking show of reluctance, she rose up and slithered into the bed beside me. She lay down on the bed, legs wide, hands over her head, but I outfoxed her and went to sleep. I was worn out. Ownership is stressful. That's a concept that gets ignored, like I said, the owner gets owned. Not the first time I'd bumbled across this reality. I don't know what happened next. I dropped off the edge of consciousness into the abyss of sleep and didn't wake for a couple hours. When I did, Candi was cuddled up against me like one of us was hot and the other was dying of the cold.

I was hard as glass. I rolled Candi onto her back and nudged her legs open. The girl could sleep now. She murmured something suspiciously like "yes, master" and lazily stretched her arms over her head. I moved between her legs, only then thinking to check to see if she was pleasantly wet. She was. I touched my cock to her cunt and slide it inside. She took me with tight acceptance, lifting her ass to ease the way. When I bumped the bottom of her pit, she moaned softly, but she wasn't awake. Her hips rose under me, cinching us together. Her cunt clinched down on me and I drew back out of her. Her legs moved until she could plant her feet flat on the bed, knees clutching my sides.

I fucked her.

This wasn't making love and it wasn't just fucking really even though I just said so. It was something else. I recognized it. This had happened before but I'd been too busy to notice. Nor did the female I was...whatevering...she, before, with the MILFs and others, they didn't know what was happening either. I think it was as new and unfamiliar to them as it was to me and I was a strict dilettante, that is I started out that way. Sliding into Candi Cane at two in the morning after her weeping jag and the fracturing of whatever this was between us had a surreal quality to it, while at the same time being more real than ever before.

"Mine." I growled a bit as I possessed her.

Possessed. That's the word I was searching for...and yes, it was what I was thinking as I fucked her. ("fuck" is too good a word to replace entirely!) I wasn't all focused on her or what she wanted or needed or anything of the sort. I was taking what I wanted, what I needed. That sounded like the very definition of selfishness in my head, yes, I was talking to myself and the commentary was parallel to me mounting the woman. I was fucking her yes, but I was elsewhere. This was me using her. I snapped back into my body to check on how I was doing and found her wet, responsive, nearly purring with satisfaction. So I went back to thinking. Her bliss seemed to expand as my inattention, the use of her.

I divided. There was the me all replete with words and concepts and confusion. There was the me mounted between this woman's legs. Fucking her, I was, yoda Sonny was, but it was tender and careful and she was nearly gushing...she woke finally, biting her lower lips in the gray urban darkness of the hotel room, her eye shining up at me. She whimpered then, her hips thrusting faster at me, urgency rippled in her.

I understood. I understood! The realization flooded me and I felt all wise and shit.

"Yes, Pet. Cum for me." I whispered.

Her legs wrapped around me, her hands gripped by shoulders as I levered my cock into her and grunted, her lithe body arched under me and her hips ground and hammered at me like there were tongs and metal involved.

"Oh, oh, oh!" She said, but then immediately her eyes opened and filled with consternation.

I kissed her then, draping my body between her legs as she climaxed. At first her lips were stiff, resisting but then her mouth opened and we shared a very human kiss. And just like that, my orgasm fell on me out of no where. No heralds announcing the royal arrival. No schedule, no intervening distance to build anticipation. No chase. No pomp and circumstance. Just wham! Climax. I met her humping body with hunching thrusts and pumped her full of cum...well, I made a slight deposit anyway.

My mind went blank, all thought stopped and I rolled off her, tipping her right knee to the bed to find my place where the little death consummated in the sleep of the righteous. Nothing fancy, nothing complex. It was the classic wham! Bam! Thank you ma'am! fuck of legend that had attained notoriety in the wife circles of yore and I'd mostly considered rude male behavior. I slipped into sleep with the sound I came to call "purring" from the woman and the feel of her wriggling against me as though trying to get closer to me than my own skin.

When I woke again a couple hours later, she was cuddled up against me all over again still, wheezing slightly but dead asleep, oozing contentment. It's unmistakable in some females and we guys tend to miss, ignore or dismiss it when we see it because it's so rare and females can't imagine how precious it is to use when we find it. It's scary because we mostly have little idea how it arrived, from whence it came or where it goes when it goes and why. It always goes with most women so finding her in such bliss left me in such awe I just reveled in it.

Then I took her again. I mounted her. Can't get all awestruck and forget to fuck a female basking in bliss I caused, now can I? That'd just be silly and overdoing the whole thing. I did it, I fucked her. Again, nothing fancy. I arranged her on her back and moved between her legs. She remained pliant, offering no movement of her own which I concluded meant she was still truly asleep. She was wet when my cock tip, scaly with my last use of her, touched her. I pushed into her and she flowered under me, accepting. This time, I rode her to orgasm again in short order and she merely lay under me, accepting.

Every effort my mind made to wander off was frustrated by the velvet goodness of her cunt and the piquant tenderness of my cock inside her. The confluence we formed engulfed me and I ground into her as artlessly as a virgin monk. Stroke, stroke, stroke, pause. Stroke, stroke, stroke, pause. Regular as a fuck clock. I had little energy to offer to the moment, I just wanted to be inside her. And I there I was. My tender cock in her tender snatch, cuz I wanted it and I didn't ask or discuss it...she was a Pet. Do you ask your pet...oh, let's not go there! Over and over I thrust into her. Her head lolled to the side, mostly in shadow so that I couldn't quite see her expression. I was never sure she was even aware that I was using her body like this. I began feeling guilty, taking without giving in return, seemed like theft and Sonny is no thief! The feeling rose in me but then orgasm welled up in me and the climax blanked my mind.

I rode her then elbows locked so our torsos barely touched, head back, cock jammed deep into her compliant body. Her legs welcoming and open. I bucked and groaned, oddly not wanting to wake her, but of course, once the first flashing crash of pleasure swept past and through me, my head dropped and I saw the glinting of her open eyes. I was busy then, consumed by the climax in the night and taking her, using her was all that mattered. Just then, as I was opening my eyes between spurting thrusts of orgasm, some car passed so that the light flashed and bounced its way into our insular little world, an instant of clarity like a photographic flash and fire, and I saw her face clearly. I named it "satisfaction". No orgasm, barely even aware of my artful insertion, but there it was, writ into the expression on her face, satisfaction. I wanted the light to freeze the moment and let me study it, her, and feel everything in detail but that is what memory is supposed to provide. And in this instance, mine did.

My orgasm passed me by leaving me pleasantly limp, spent, empty, the way meditation is supposed to be except this was way more interesting. I decided right then that meditation was for people who didn't know how to fuck. That sounds unkind but it might be true. That moment, using Candice Tracie Olivette shifted something in me and I added that term to my consciousness. Using. Fucking. Making love. Using. Using as in possession. Using as in taking my pleasure from her and leaving nothing but a mess for her to clean up, which turns out had other significance to Candi. The real significance occurred as I lay on my back and I muttered, "My Pet" into the darkness and I felt her wriggle against me, like she was trying to give my body mouth to mouth resuscitation one pore at a time. She melded to me and oddly I didn't feel crowded. I was wearing her as I slipped once more to sleep. Of course, Sonny being Sonny, I couldn't leave well enough alone.

Thursday arrived feeling very different than the way the ambush had left me. In part, the ambush had shifted to seem more of the intervention my sisters insisted it was. I woke with Pet cuddled against me. I lay for a few minutes and touched things with my mind, bobbing from one thought to the next like a big black bumble bee dances through a clover patch in spring. While the conundrum remained with me, I seemed to buzz with a sense of well-being I'd either forgotten or lost. And no, it wasn't the ambush. It was that sense that I was no really at the mercy of some capricious pantheon monitoring my coitus turning it into something like sacrifice to their demanding attention. See how nuts that sounds? Fucking as sacrifice? Fuck me. Even I was nonplussed by that idea.

Oh, the conundrum remained. Did I possess something special? Or was I just benefiting from an incredible string of luck I'd spend the rest of my life trying to duplicate? That took me to the thought of Mr. Blue and what he represented. What did he represent? He clearly saw whatever I had to be a skill to be applied in some broader context for some larger purpose, his, albeit but still, not just simply fucking to feel the zap and sizzle.

I thought of Hassum and the pending opportunity to interview the lay down assistant for the "client". The appearance of Mr. Blue suddenly made that idea seem logical for me, like I wasn't stealing, it wasn't thievery to design an approach that had Sonny fucking a whole new version of female but with a purpose in mind that wasn't all focused on the bump and rumble of the fuck itself.

That led me right to Annie and why a billionaire's wife was living in a suburban house unattended or adorned and what it meant that she had her dual affection for me. What did Sid want of me? And how was it that Jeb Wills has let me arrange his household, fuck his wife...and mistress, or should that be Mistress? I had no idea.

And that led me to Alissa and the coup I seemed to be instrumental in engineering at Peppers, Bickerstaff and Kline. In moments I was tumbling down through the many corridors of the MILF List and beyond. I glanced at the clock and saw time had escaped me and I lost my mind. I ran through a shower and dashed breakfastless to my car, not stopped by the sight of Pet sitting on her knees keening as I swept past, all single-minded and focused. I was halfway to school when the phone rang.

"Sonny, get back here! Did you learn nothing last night?" Mavis's "mom" voice nearly caused a wreck. I pulled over so I wouldn't be chattering on the phone and driving at the same time. "Get back here immediately." I felt a little disconcerted to be so summarily summoned and fought back.

"Why?" Seemed like a normal question to me, logical, sensible, imminently reasonable.

Mavis snorted. "Just get back here. You forgot your pet."

Turns out my departure had led to some outcry and Pet made a ruckus that got security called to the room. I arrived at the hotel, parked the car in a tow zone and told the valet I had to get my pet. He was the next shift and looked mystified since the hotel had a 'no pet' policy. Little did he know. Little did I know! When I emerged with Pet in tow, all happy now that she'd wrecked my schedule and introduced me to hotel security, he stared so I had to open the passenger door myself. He stared while she crawled into the floorboards and sat up so she could stare back at him over the dashboard. He stared until I turned away to head back to school, late for class.

Pet.

I finally had her name ensconced in my head. School seemed like a series of late arrivals of nearly no importance. Study groups and classes passed like scenery viewed from a train. The focus was pet, mine and others. Early on someone called security and they came to make an issue of a female on a leash. The poor guys made the mistake of asking her if she was "safe".

Pet looked at them with the most baleful glare you can imagine. "I am what I am. I am Pet. I am owned, possessed, used by my owner and no one else gets me unless he shares me with them. I am his He has claimed me and I am exactly in the right place in the cosmos, where I fit, where I am happy, fulfilled and complete as a person, as a woman, as a creature on God's green earth. Can you say the same?" They couldn't. They were happy to leave and that is saying something about security these days, buggers are sticky as hot bubble gum.

The stares typified the day but I think the following calls to security to complain about me and Pet tended to be ignored. Or maybe there were none because Pet had this bearing about her, a carriage that made her seem regal and haughty and proud even as the leash dangled from her plain black leather collar running to my oh! So casual hand. She walked and looked around defiantly at all who dared stare at us. She met stares with such fierceness that even the dikiest of dikes couldn't meet her eyes. I ignored the stares but Pet glared at anyone and everyone until every context became empty of attention or at least the obvious attention. I never had to yank her chain or get her attention or any such correction. She followed me close and as comfortable as my shadow. At times when we stood still, I'd slip an arm around her waist and she'd huddle against me like paint on a sculpture and coo, making little sounds in her throat telling me she was not just content, but happy. Truth may be that she was teaching more than I learned in class that day. I was learning the poses of possession and the manner of ownership...casual, virtually unaware that I had a female scantily dressed moving in concert with me as though we were dancers who hear the same music choreographed together so tightly that we are one. The cold did not seem to bother her at all.

I spent a good part of the day with my mental being divided. Part did school and part watched me possess Pet. And her be possessed. I didn't fuck her at school, that would have been...oh, wait! Fun! No, no, no, gauche...I'd just met this woman and though I'd made progress, leaving her at the hotel was a huge mistake but she forgave so easily I felt guilty. But something about her constant presence and attention to blending with me in a way that could only be called devotion calmed me and by the end of the day, I was acting in concert with her, as she was with me, but with the full expectation that she'd be where and as I needed her with no input at all from me. It was sort of amazing and while it was like I experienced the day with her through glass, it had its effect on me, but the interesting part of the day didn't really begin until we arrived back at the hotel. Then the glass shattered and things began to poke through and penetrate me, which is not the usual experience I sought. I usually did the penetration but this was how change happens, with some intention, understanding and forethought but also with a dollop of surprise and light penetrating the darkness that leaves us breathless from what is revealed. The ambush was the cracking of a door that exposed a darkness hiding a world I did not imagine existed and Pet was the first indication. This Thursday would expose me to much more than just that in the evening hours before I laid down to sleep, a different guy than the one that fucked Pet in the night. The change was upon me. And change is difficult and scary, sometimes. When it isn't we hug it close and drink it down and luxuriate in the results. When it exists in darkness, it is like a step off a cliff, out of an airplane, a plunge into darkness, the darkness of an entirely new world.

I led Pet to the door of the hotel, duly opened and made my way across the body littered lobby towards the elevators. Reality flashed and my mind stopped its repose in the bowels of this deep existential question and saw three people seeing me, and my new pet, all at the same time, a Gestalt of perception that felt like a flash of lightning and left me waiting for the thunder.

Before me, there stood a tall woman of pale skin, clothed in rich emerald green with a hornets nest of red hair piled high on her head, so as to expose her long, white, straight neck. I glanced immediately at my pet and her collar and thought how lovely that redhead's neck would look, and feel, collared in like fashion, even with just the rough black leather of Pet's collar. When my eyes met those eyes of the redhead I experienced not merely recognition but in a rush and tumble of sensations the various ways in which I had penetrated her body. I sought the name. It was like I had burned a spot on the roof of my mouth without awareness and was swabbing it with the tip of my tongue trying to remember what hurried, incautious moment had left me marked.

Theresa Fayre.

The name washed over me and the moment began when our eyes met, stopping me in my tracks. Pet stopped without touching me, following on the leash but utterly tuned to my motion so that she always ghosted and shadowed me with perfect spacing, like a well trained seeing eye dog, but following me with equal attentiveness. That, my friends is not a skill you suck out of your thumb. It bespeaks both training and a commitment that I didn't think would be found in the daughter of Sandra Olivette. But there it was!

The moment of mutual stillness ended with the redhead's smile and my feel of my cock stirring. With seeming nonchalance, Ms. Fayre slowly began to release the coiled and captured red tresses clearly intentionally reminiscent of when she'd last presented her tresses to me, just before I fucked her. She continued conversing with the well-appointed black couple on whom she'd been focused when our eyes met but one by one her long locks were released until her body was swathed in that covering wash of scarlet hair. Her eyes remained on mine. Fixed. Unblinking. Talking to the couple but focused on me. And by the time the last of her tresses was freed and hanging about her, rippling and richly red, the couple was glancing in my direction to see what had suddenly diverted her mercantile attention and service from them.

At this very same time, to the right, a figure rose who focused so clearly on me I had absolutely no doubt either to his identity or that focus. I quailed and rightly for he did not look happy. Laydown Alan, aka Rodney Alan stood up from the straight backed chair by the door to the bar where he'd been perched and ambled towards me, that rolling stride with the swinging arms that bespeaks strength and confidence in that strength but hides the actual intention in a haze of casual menace. It invites projection and I admit my first was fear, for I'd not called or given even a passing thought behind one or two to his sister Ahmay who could logically be thought to be feeling slighted at this neglect. I'd treated her to a ringside seat with two women, black and white, both of whom I'd fucked and then left to their own devices and then...nothing. Not a card or a call, not an email or a text. Rodney was no man to be trifled with and surely his appearance suggested I'd been doing some trifling and neither of my existential excuses were likely to make much of an impression on his protective, brotherly ire.