Chapter 14: Riled up Pets
The walk from the bus stop to his apartment building had never felt longer. Each step was a drumbeat, counting down to whatever chaos awaited him. The plastic bag from the electronics store swung from his hand, containing not just the charged remote, but two new, high-capacity power banks. He had a feeling they’d be needed.
He could feel the weight of the day in his shoulders, the phantom vibrations of his phone still buzzing in his nerves. The library’s quiet had become a maddening white noise, a blank screen onto which his mind had projected every salacious image sent by the iPad. Mrs. Gable had asked him twice if he was coming down with something, his face was so flushed.
He stood before his door, key in hand. No sounds came from within. No thumps, no screams. Just silence. It was somehow worse.
He turned the key. Pushed the door open.
The scent hit him first. It was thick, primal, a musk of sweat, sex, and something sweetly electric that had no earthly analogue. The usual clutter of his apartment—the stacks of manga, the empty ramen cups, the laundry piled on a chair—had been pushed violently against the walls, clearing a wide space in the center of the room.
They were in the center.
Demona and Belphina were on their knees, facing the door, as if in a perverse receiving line. They were naked, their skin sheened with a fresh, oily sweat that caught the low light from his anime poster lamp. Their collars were fastened, the black leather stark against their throats. From each metal O-ring, a leash trailed—not to the floor, but into their own mouths. Each had the end of her own leash clamped between her teeth, pulling their heads back just enough to expose the elegant, straining lines of their necks.
Their hands were behind their heads, fingers laced. Their eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed on him.
Then, in perfect, practiced unison, they began to clap their asses.
Not a slap. A clap. They shifted their weight, muscles coiling in their thick thighs, and brought the full, heavy mounds of their buttocks together with a wet, thunderous smack that echoed in the small space. The impact sent shockwaves through their bodies, making every curve and swell jiggle and bounce in a synchronized, hypnotic rhythm. Clap. Clap. Clap. The sound was obscenely loud, a slow, mocking applause.
“Welcome home, Master,” Demona said, the words garbled around the leash in her teeth, yet perfectly clear.
“We’ve been good,” Belphina added, her voice a hungry purr. “We waited.”
They stopped clapping. The sudden silence was heavier than the noise. They remained on their knees, leashes in mouths, breathing heavily through their noses, their chests rising and falling. Their expressions were not the playful, teasing masks from the photos. This was something sharper, more desperate. A raw, undiluted need that had been simmering all day and was now at a rolling boil.
Harry stood frozen in the doorway, the bag dangling from his numb fingers. His brain tried to process the tableau. The obedience mixed with defiance. The staged presentation. The sheer, overwhelming physicality of them, a monument of flesh built for a single, consuming purpose.
“The… the iPad?” he finally managed, his voice a dry croak.
Demona’s eyes flicked to the coffee table. The device was there, resting on a closed art book. The screen was dark. “It served its purpose. It stoked the fire. But it is a cold tool. It cannot put the fire out.”
Belphina released her leash from her mouth with a soft, wet pop. “She’s being poetic. It means we’re empty. We’re hungry. The pictures were just… snacks. Teases. It made it worse.”
She dropped her hands from behind her head and crawled forward on her knees, a slow, predatory approach. The leash dragged behind her. She stopped at his feet, nuzzling his shin through the cheap fabric of his khakis. “You said only for emergencies. This is an emergency. Our insides are screaming. It’s all dry and aching. You have to fix it.”
Demona spat her leash out next. “We require saturation. A flooding. Not a trickle. You will not sleep tonight. You will not think. You will use us. Until the screaming stops.”
Harry looked from one to the other. The timid part of him, the library assistant, wanted to shut the door and run. But that part was drowned under a wave of something hotter, darker, more possessive. They had spent a day driving themselves mad for him. They had cleared a battlefield in his living room. They were offering themselves not as seducers, but as supplicants.
He let the door swing shut. The click of the latch was the starting pistol.
He dropped the bag on the floor. He didn’t reach for the remote. Not yet.
“On the bed,” he said, the command surprising him with its flatness.
They moved like a single organism, scrambling to the mattress in a tangle of limbs and leashes. They didn’t assume a pose. They just lay there, side by side on their backs, watching him, waiting for instruction. The power of it, the absolute surrender, was more intoxicating than any aphrodisiac.
He undressed slowly, letting them watch. His own arousal was a painful, thick weight between his legs. When he finally freed himself, Belphina let out a choked, whimpering sound. Demona bit her own knuckle, her eyes wide and black.
“Demona,” he said. “Come here.”
She slid off the bed and onto her knees before him again. He took her leash from the floor and wrapped it once around his fist, a gentle but unbreakable hold. With his other hand, he guided himself to her absurdly full, pouting lips.
“You sent a picture of this,” he said, his voice low. “Now show me what it’s for.”
She needed no further encouragement. Her mouth opened, not in a graceful invitation, but in a voracious, unhinging gape. She took him in, not inch by inch, but in a single, deep, swallowing plunge that buried him to the hilt in the wet, squeezing heat of her throat. Her nose pressed into his pelvis. Her eyes watered instantly, streaming black tears down her cheeks. A guttural, satisfied groan vibrated through her and into his core.
She didn’t bob. She didn’t move. She just held him there, embedded in her, her body trembling with the effort of total submission. He could feel every constricting ripple of her esophagus, a living, sucking sheath.
From the bed, Belphina whined, a high, desperate sound. “My turn. Please, my turn. Let me taste, let me taste.”
Harry pulled Demona back by the leash. She came off with a wet, gasping cry, a strand of saliva connecting her lip to his glistening length. “Patience,” he said, though his own was fraying. He led Demona, crawling, to the foot of the bed. “Stay.”
He turned to Belphina. “You. On your stomach. Head off the edge.”
She scrambled into position, her generous ass in the air, her face hanging over the side of the mattress. He stood over her, feeding his length back into Demona’s hungry, waiting mouth while he positioned himself at Belphina’s entrance. She was drenched, her folds swollen and slick, offering no resistance.
He pushed into her in one slow, inexorable stroke.
Her scream was muffled by the mattress. Her body arched, then went limp, then arched again as he began to move. At the same time, Demona redoubled her efforts, her head bobbing frantically, her tongue swirling. The dual sensations, the tight, clutching heat of Belphina’s core and the wet, sucking pressure of Demona’s throat, were a sensory overload that threatened to short-circuit his mind.
He set a brutal, punishing pace. This wasn’t love-making. It wasn’t even fucking. It was a feeding. An exorcism of their shared, desperate hunger. The room filled with the sounds of it: the wet slap of skin, the choked gags, the high, continuous keening from Belphina, the animalistic grunts he didn’t recognize as his own.
He switched them, and switched them again. Pulling Demona from her knees to mount her from behind, her enormous breasts swinging like pendulums beneath her as she pushed back against him, babbling incoherent praises. Flipping Belphina onto her back, pinning her ankles by her ears, watching her eyes roll back as he plunged into her depths.
Hours blurred. The remote from the bag was finally procured, its silent, targeted vibrations wringing shattered cries from first one, then the other, pushing them over edges that only made them claw for more. He lost track of who was where, of which mouth, which warmth he was buried in. They became a single, multi-limbed entity of want, and he was the axis upon which it spun.
The climax, when it finally tore through him, was less a pleasure than a violent release of pressure, a seismic event. He was inside Demona when it hit, her legs locked around his waist. He emptied himself in deep, pumping surges that seemed to have no end. She screamed, her body seizing, her internal muscles milking him with frantic, pulsing contractions. Beside them, Belphina, feeling the psychic echo of it, convulsed into another orgasm of her own, a silent scream on her lips.
He collapsed between them, a spent ruin. The air was a soup of spent sex and salt. Their bodies, slick and heavy, pressed against him from both sides. They were not fighting for dominance. They were not bickering. Belphina’s head was on his chest, her blonde hair matted. Demona’s arm was thrown across his stomach, her fingers loosely curled. Their breathing, all three of them, slowly synced into a ragged, exhausted rhythm.
After a long time, Demona spoke into the darkness, her voice hoarse and utterly sated. “The screaming… stopped.”
Belphina nodded against his skin. “It’s quiet inside. Full. For now.”
Harry stared at the water-stained ceiling, feeling the profound, terrifying stillness in the room and in himself. He had answered their emergency. He had flooded them. And in the quiet aftermath, with their weight anchoring him to the bed, he understood there was no going back to a world that was quiet, or empty, or his own.