Summary: Bella's been looking for something her whole life but she's never seen it. Does it exist outside her imagination? Edward, ever the dangerous predator, is the embodiment of her every desire. Rated for Mature Audiences due to graphic scenes involving pet play.
Author's notes: This very short o/s is an animal play fic, rated M and is entirely the fault of NotThat_Kristen, luvrofink, and 3Hare5 and the weird-ass twitter convo we had. You girls are deliciously pervy and I heart you so freakin' much for that.
Pet Play is a kink involving people dressing and behaving like animals. In a sexual setting the pet is typically the submissive half of a D/s relationship. The dominant half is the usually the owner.
Her love of wild animals stemmed from somewhere in her childhood. One of her earliest memories was feeding the squirrels who lived in the trees all around her parent's lavish home. Over time as she fed the wild, bushy-tailed creatures they would come closer and closer and her mother became more and more afraid.
"Come away from those things this instant, Isabella Marie Swan!" she would shout. "They could bite your finger off and give you rabies and then your whole arm would rot and you'd be foaming at the mouth, not to mention the fleas and ticks and lice and god-knows-what-else they're crawling with. Come here!"
So she would leave the wild little creatures to themselves and traipse back to the house, forlorn that she was taken away from them once again. But she learned, in time, to sneak away into the forest behind her Washington home and seek out her beloved animals.
When she was fourteen she accidentally stumbled upon a wolf. Fear shot through her but she couldn't run. It was better that she hadn't. For if she'd run, the giant wolf would have seen her as prey, and given chase. But instead she was mesmerized by it's russet fur and piercing black eyes. She held out her hand to him, shaking though it was.
He took one step closer to her, then another, then another, until she could feel his hot breath all the way up her arm. He towered over her and barred his powerful canines until she was sure her death would come that day. When he turned without any foreseeable cause and ran off in the direction of the local Indian reservation, she finally let out a whoosh of air. She collapsed onto the ground as the adrenaline began to leave her body, but she knew without a doubt that she was hooked.
She needed contact with that type of danger. She wanted to feel the rush of being at the mercy of a powerful animal who acted on nothing but instinct. As long as she lived that desire never left her.
As she grew up, the craving grew, deepened, morphed and she longed to feel hunted once more. Unfortunately all she found were domesticated pets: frolicking Labradors, trained ponies, frisky felines – none of which would satisfy her. She turned away from every offer, discouraged and heartbroken.
A friend invited her to try just once more.
"Angela, please. I really don't want to. It's useless."
"Come on Bella. For me?" she begged, giving her the puppy-dog eyes that she so perfectly personified.
"What I want doesn't exist, Ang. It's no use to look."
"Just because we've never heard of it, doesn't mean it's not possible. Please, Bella. Please!"
"Alright, fine. But this is it. No more, after tonight. I just can't."
That night Bella rode to the party with Angela and her owner. She felt as out of place as always, longing to be something that she could barely even picture in her mind: both owner and submissive. In her fantasies she saw herself running, running, running from the predator, being caught, being owned by…something…a wild beast…dangerous. But what that could look like in real life, she couldn't fathom.
Unlike most of the people in similar postures through out the room, she wore no collar, no mark, no symbol, nothing. It made her feel as naked as some actually were, despite her relatively modest attire – the latex barely covering all the essentials. But her eyes were downcast, her hands clasped in front of her, a step behind her friends.
Angela turned to look at Bella and whined, "Nnnh, nnnh, nnnh," in perfect puppy pitch through her leather muzzle. When Bella looked up she saw her friend wag her tail in an encouraging gesture. She smiled at Angela's antics and petted her head.
"I'm gonna go grab a drink, Ben," she said to the man holding her friend's leash. "Do you want one?"
"No, thank you, Bella." He smiled warmly at her and pulled his pet along with a "Heel girl."
Bella watched as they disappeared into the crowd then headed for the refreshments area. A Gorean slave in a typical white toga gown approached her with a tray of champagne flutes.
"May this slave offer the lady a drink?" she asked with bowed head.
Bella took a glass without a word and turned to go see what scenes were playing out around the large mansion hosting the evening's activities. She strolled past decadent tableaus of pleasure feeling mildly titillated but nothing seemed to draw her interest.
That was until she saw him.
He was curled up on an enormous pillow, eyes half closed in a posture of bored observation. Her eyes scanned over his form.
His hair was a wild mess of orange-toned brown fur that framed his face like a mane. His legs were tucked beneath him but she could see the clearly defined muscles at rest, coiled and waiting for their Master to command them to spring.
She stepped nearer and nearer to him as a familiar thrill rushed through her veins. Every sense was heightened and she knew, instinctively, that this creature before her was the most dangerous man in the room. But she desired nothing more than to be closer to him.
While she watched, mesmerized, he turned and stretched. Her breath caught in her lungs. He was bare, entirely bare. Only one ornamentation decorated his body – the long feline tail. It matched his hair exactly and he brought it up to curl around his body with a swish.
As he settled himself once more upon his regal cushion, he noticed her. She saw his eyes ignite and burn red hot. He bowed his back and crouched on his legs, bending to the floor with his hands beneath him and watched her as she stood like a sculpture at the edge of his obvious domain.
She inched closer still and saw his head lower further, his muscles bunch, and his mouth part just before he leapt. Like a great cat on the plains of Africa, he was swift, sure, and deadly. She was caught beneath him before she realized what happened.
He'd sprung from his place with a push from his powerful arms and legs and landed on top of her. She flung herself back onto a pile of cushions to avoid his impact, her drink spilled, glass rolling away, in the process. When her eyes opened after she landed, she flinched to realize he was so near.
With her flat on her back, he was crouched above her, but, she noticed sorrowfully, wasn't touching her anywhere. She was pinned where she lay with nothing more than the weight of his presence. Heart pounding, breath panting, eyes widening, she never felt more alive than that moment.
For a second he gazed into her eyes then dipped his head and she felt the broad expanse of his tongue lick from her collar bone up her neck ending behind her ear.
With a whimper she realized he was tasting her, testing her, deciding if he wanted to make a meal of her and, God help her, she was praying he did. Raising his head again he blew out a breath over her face and she was lost in the scent of him. His nose dipped this time and he sniffed her neck, her breasts, lower, looking up at her when he discovered her arousal. He tasted her there with another long lick, convincing her that it was entirely possible to die from pleasure.
Her mind was still reeling when he nipped at her thigh with his teeth and pressed against her hip with his nose. It wasn't a request, it was a command and she knew it. Scrambling, trembling, pumping with fear and adrenaline, she turned her body over so his torso ran the length of her spine, then raised her hips like an animal in heat.
In the next moment, he didn't ask; he took.
She was caged beneath him, surround by his arms and legs and skewered by his flesh. He panted and grunted and flexed above her and she could do nothing but mew like a frightened kitten.
The sounds their flesh made was obscene – wet and squelching – but were the most honest thing she'd heard in her life. Truthful in the obviousness of their activity, unashamed in the animalistic fucking, and oblivious to everything and everyone around them.
He took and took and took from her until sweat dripped from his brow to her shoulder. She gave and gave and gave until her cheek had fabric burns and her dress bunched around her waist, having slipped from her breasts and her thighs.
Harder and harder he pounded, scooting her across the cushion-bedecked floor in his royal corner until her head hit the wall and she braced her hands against it. When he came, he burst inside of her with a mighty roar and bit down on her neck. She felt the skin break, smelled the blood drip, and came with an earth-shattering force the likes of which she never knew existed.
When she came back to herself, he was lapping at her wound and still buried inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them wide to look over her shoulder at him.
His eyes retained the wild quality but showed definite signs of satiation. While she watched him warily he pressed something soft into her hand. Turning her head to see what it was, she saw the end of the long golden-red tail. He pulled out of her with a slurp and she felt the remnants drip down her thighs.
He dismounted from atop her and turned without looking back. She clambered to her feet and held on to the end of his tail, careful not pull it from where it was anchored inside him. Following him through the crowd and tugging her dress with her free hand, she watched the muscles of his back roll beneath his skin as he stalked across the room and up the stairs.
It never occurred to her to glance back. She had no nervousness to be leaving all the other guests behind them. This was exactly what she'd been looking for her whole life. It was so perfect, in fact that soon after the party, Bella moved into that very mansion.
A doormat graces the step below their front door saying, "A cat and his human live here."