10. Bruce
CHAPTER 10
brUCE
Did I just hear that correctly? She will pretend to be a dog?
Maybe this is a really odd, self-deprecating, jokey way of calling herself a bitch?
No. She means it literally. Why else would she be turning the front end of the leash into a loop and lassoing it around her midsection?
Fuck me. Said rope wraps under her perky little breasts, pushing them up for my already-overactive cock to admire.
“Here.” She hands me the leash handle.
Stunned, I take what is offered, still unable to believe my eyes.
Little do I know this is only the beginning.
She kneels in front of me, like she’s about to make some of my recent fantasies come true. Then she gets on all fours—which is the start of even more fantasies.
What. The. Fuck?
Is this a seduction attempt? Her perfectly shaped ass is on display, which seems to corroborate this… but what’s with the leash? Does she think I’m that kinky billionaire cliché?
“Now,” she says over her shoulder. “Show me your leash technique.”
So maybe this isn’t BDSM. Otherwise, what she’s doing would be considered topping from the bottom. Still, whatever this kink is, I might just be into it. My cock is almost painfully hard.
She takes a four-legged step. Then another. Her ass shakes so temptingly I want to growl—or rip those jeans into shreds.
After she takes the next step, the leash goes taut.
“You’re supposed to walk with me,” she says. “That or press the button to give the leash some give.”
I gape down at her. “What the hell is going on?”
“I’m the dog, you’re the walker,” she says in a snarky tone that calms my libido a little—one or two percent, tops.
“I got that,” I bite out. “Why would you structure the lesson this way?”
The idea that she’s done this with other clients—male clients—makes me furious… which is just as illogical as the sudden urge to order her to do this with me and no one else going forward.
She turns and looks up, just as she would if we were going at it doggy-style. “My training philosophy is inspired by the Golden Rule: only do onto dogs what I’m okay experiencing for myself.”
“That makes a warped kind of sense,” I admit grudgingly.
In fact, I’ve been following something like her philosophy all this time, which is why, for example, the dog eats food made by my chef.
“And you said you couldn’t describe how you use the leash,” she continues. “So now you can show me.”
“Fine,” I grit out.
“Finally,” she says with an eyeroll. “Now let’s see you walk me, and then I’ll do you.”
She wants me to be on all fours? That’s another kink altogether, and one I’m decidedly not into.
One problem at a time. I readjust my erection so that I’m able to trudge behind her slowly. “Ready.”
She crawls. I follow, keeping the leash loose.
“Great job,” she says. “Now let’s pretend you don’t want me to go there.” She gestures at the edge of the carpet. “There might be a squirrel, or something I shouldn’t eat.”
I pull on the leash as I would with Colossus in said scenario.
“No,” she says sternly. “That’s too hard. You could choke him.”
I grit my teeth. “Maybe if he wore a collar, yes, but he wears a harness. At most, I’d lift him.”
“You should learn the technique that can apply to all dogs. What if someone asks you to walk their bigger dog?”
She has a point. The same way I got saddled with this dog, I could end up with another one down the line.
Apparently, I can’t say no to some people.
“Go for the squirrel again,” I order.
She does, and I could swear she shakes her butt as she crawls—a move that sends shockwaves through my throbbing cock.
With an iron effort of will, I pull the leash gently.
“That’s better,” she says. “But really, what you’re going for is a little tug.”
I do my best to tug.
“Almost there,” she says.
Rolling my eyes, I pretend that a feather has landed on my hand—resulting in the tiniest micromovement.
“Yes,” she says excitedly. “Just like that.”
Of course. First, she gets on all fours, and then she sounds like she’s getting fucked. If anyone from my staff were to come into the room at this moment, they’d be convinced I’m harassing her, even though the truth is closer to the opposite.
“Show me what you’d do if I were to lie on the grass.” Matching actions to words, she lies down—in a pretty good imitation of how Colossus drives me mad on walks.
“Come,” I say gruffly and do a micro tug. “Let’s go.”
She gets back on all fours and starts moving, so I keep the leash loose.
“Wrong,” she says sternly.
“What are you talking about?” And does she not realize she’s in a perfect position to get her butt spanked?
“When he does what you want, you have to give positive reinforcement.”
“Good girl,” I growl through my teeth.
She stops and gives me a seething glare over her shoulder. “You realize dogs don’t speak much, if any, English, right? They go by tone, and yours is saying, ‘I’m going to murder you.’”
I fill my lungs with air, exhale to relax, and then pretend I’m speaking with an infant as I say, “Good girl.”
“Better,” she says. “Though, given him hiking his leg when he pees and all that, I’d wager Colossus identifies as a boy… but then again, it’s hard to be sure.”
“I obviously wasn’t being woke,” I snap. “I was giving you the reinforcement.”
“In that case, don’t call me ‘girl.’” She pushes up to her feet. “Your turn.”