Chapter 12: Moonlit Walkies
The silence after the phone stopped ringing stretched, thick and syrupy. Demona’s words hung in the air, a seductive truth that bypassed Harry’s brain and coiled around his spine. The world outside, with its library fines and disapproving boss, faded to a dull gray. Here, in the sweat-scented heat of his bed, was color, and weight, and demand.
Belphina nuzzled his other side, her blonde hair tickling his arm. “We’re restless,” she murmured, her voice a husky vibration against his skin. “Cooped up. Need air. Need to feel the night.”
“Walkies,” Demona breathed into his ear, the childish word transformed into something darkly erotic. She tugged gently at the leash still connected to her collar. “Please, Master? Take your bitches for walkies.”
The idea was absurd, terrifying. The thought of leading these two obscenely proportioned, barely-clad women through his apartment building, into the street… His heart stammered. But the leashes in his hands were not just leather; they were conduits of a will he was only beginning to understand he possessed. He sat up.
“Okay,” he said, the word quiet but firm.
They scrambled off the bed with a clatter of chains and a jiggle of flesh, their exhaustion seemingly forgotten in a surge of giddy anticipation. They didn’t dress. They merely fastened the harnesses from the box—straps of black leather that framed their massive breasts and cinched their waists, emphasizing the dizzying curve of their hips. It was more obscene than nudity. Demona attached her own leash to the ring at the front of the harness, between her breasts, and handed the handle to Harry. Belphina did the same, her blue eyes gleaming with frantic excitement.
“The park,” Belphina said. “It’s empty. It’s dark.”
He led them to the door, two ancient demons shuffling on their knees behind him, their breath hot on the backs of his thighs. The hallway was deserted, lit by a single flickering fluorescent tube. The linoleum was cold under his bare feet. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a gunshot. They crawled behind him, a whisper of skin on tile, the soft clink-clink of the leash chains the only other sound.
Down the stairwell, the scent of mildew and old cigarettes mixing with their pervasive, sweet musk. They didn’t speak. Their obedience was absolute, a heady silence that poured more confidence into Harry’s veins than any boast could. He pushed open the heavy exterior door, and the cold night air washed over them.
The city was quiet, sleeping. A sodium-orange streetlight cast long, distorted shadows. The park across the street was a pit of darkness, the playground equipment like skeletal bones.
“On your feet,” Harry whispered. They rose, smoothly, their bodies towering over him yet utterly submissive. He shortened the leashes, holding them taut. “Walk.”
They stepped into the street, a surreal procession. The cool air pebbled their skin, making their nipples hard, dark points against the leather harnesses. Their breath misted in the orange light. They didn’t walk like humans. They prowled, a rolling, hip-swaying gait that made their asses bounce and sway with each step, their attention utterly focused on the man holding their tethers.
The park grass was wet with dew, soaking their feet. Moonlight filtered through the trees, painting silver streaks on their skin. Harry led them past the silent swings, the deserted slide. They followed, their panting breaths now visible in the chill.
“Heel,” Harry said, an experiment.
They pressed in immediately, their heavy, warm bodies flanking him, their faces nuzzling his shoulders, licking the salt from his neck. Their scents intensified in the open air—Demona like spilled wine and dark incense, Belphina like ozone and crushed orchids.
“Good,” he murmured, and they shuddered in unison.
He stopped under a large oak tree, its branches casting a deeper pool of shadow. He wrapped the leashes around his fist, pulling their faces close. “This is what you wanted? To be out here? Like animals?”
“Yes,” Demona gasped, her huge lips parted, tongue darting out to lick his chin. “To be yours in the open. To have no walls.”
Belphina whined, pushing her harnessed chest against his arm. “We can smell everything out here. The dirt. The grass. But all we want is your smell. It’s all we are now.”
The crudeness, the absolute surrender of it, ignited him. He turned and began walking back toward the street, pulling them along. Their earlier prowl became a stumbling, eager trot. By the time they reached his beat-up sedan, parked a block away, they were both dripping, their thighs slick with fresh arousal that gleamed in the streetlight.
He unlocked the back door. “In.”
They scrambled onto the backseat, a tangle of limbs and leather. The car sagged under their combined weight. Harry climbed in after them, the door shutting with a solid thunk that sealed them in a private, glass-walled world. The interior was instantly flooded with their heat, their scent, the sound of their ragged breathing.
The leashes were still in his hands. He pulled, forcing them onto their backs, side-by-side, their heads pressed against the opposite doors, their phenomenal bodies offered up to him in the cramped space. The console light cast a weak, greenish glow over the frantic rise and fall of their chests.
“You need to be bred,” Harry stated, his own voice sounding foreign, thick with ownership.
The words triggered something primal. They broke.
“Yes! Please! Breed your bitches!” Demona cried, her back arching, her breasts swelling against the harness straps.
“In the filthy car! Do it!” Belphina sobbed, spreading her thighs wide, her fingers clawing at her own hips. “Make us yours in your metal den! Mark it with us!”
The last of Harry’s timidity evaporated. He freed himself, his cock springing out, already weeping. He didn’t kneel on the seat. He stood, crouched in the footwell, looming over them. He took Demona first, because she was closest, driving into her with a force that slammed her body against the door. The car rocked. Her scream was muffled by the glass.
He fucked her with short, brutal strokes, the confined space making every movement a desperate, pounding impact. Spit flew from her lips. Her eyes lost all focus, seeing only the roof of the car. He pulled out, dripping, and shoved into Belphina. She wrapped her thick thighs around his waist, heels digging into his back, trying to take him deeper than the angle allowed. She gnawed on her own wrist to stifle her screams.
Back and forth. A frantic, messy rhythm. The leashes were tangled around his wrists now, binding him to them. The windows fogged over, sealing them in a wet, private universe of slapping flesh, choked sobs, and the ceaseless, creaking protest of the car’s suspension. The scent was overpowering—sex, sweat, leather, and the faint, sharp tang of cheap vinyl from the seats.
“Tighter!” Demona begged, her voice shattered. “Hold the leashes tighter! Choke us with them!”
He pulled the leather taut against their throats. Their pleas turned to guttural, blissful groans. They were drooling, strings of saliva connecting their chins to their heaving chests. Their rivalry was ashes. There was only the shared, brutal penetration, the fight to take more of him, to be chosen for the final, devastating gift.
Harry felt the pressure coiling, a wire pulled to its breaking point. He released the leashes, placing both hands on the ceiling of the car for leverage. He pistoned into Belphina, then wrenched himself free and emptied himself over their upturned faces, their open mouths, their heaving, harness-strained breasts. Hot stripes painted their features, mingling with their sweat and tears.
They convulsed, tongues darting out to catch the flow, to lick it from each other’s cheeks. Their shared ecstasy was complete, a mutual ruin.
He collapsed between them, onto the sticky seat. They turned, nuzzling into him, cleaning him with soft, worshipping laps of their tongues. The leashes lay across his chest, their clasps cold against his skin.
Outside, a distant siren wailed. A pair of headlights swept past, illuminating their fogged-up windows for a brief second before moving on. The world continued, oblivious to the three creatures breathing in ragged unison in the back of a cheap car.
Belphina sighed, her lips against his hipbone. “The toys,” she mumbled, her voice drunk and thick. “We didn’t use the toys.”
Demona chuckled, a low, satiated sound. “Next time, sister. There will be a next time. There will be a thousand next times.”
She looked up at Harry, her violet eyes glazed but fiercely adoring. “Master’s bitches are very, very hungry.”