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Girl for Leash
or
How Chloe Found Heaven Through the Goo Guru
by Brady Sutton © 2008

 

Religion and Myth EroticaChloe Box stared at the cat she had recently battered, and was abashed.

Chloe had simply tried to answer the call of her recently acquired Master, Count Zoltan Goolies, who also insisted on being called Sir or the Exalted One. The meeting of Chloe and the count had been kismet. But enough about that.

Goolies, an S&M wizard of dubious intent, moments before had stumbled into his own stocks and, after a moment's contemplation, had decreed that he be flogged with a nearby cat-o'-nine-tails.

Chloe, only recently turned 18 (the age of consent in her particular land) and angelic in her own artless way, had misunderstood, seizing instead the Exalted One's cat, Butt Plug, who, upon being curious, had wandered into Goolies' den of demented devices.

When the Exalted One had kindly corrected her ("No, no, imbecilic imp! Not that cat! The lash! The lash!"), Chloe, in order to retrieve the flogger, had flung Butt Plug with inordinate strength, thus smashing the poor cat's cranium and such against a sturdy wall.

Butt Plug, his spirit slouching toward Feline Foreverland, had to chuckle. Simple curiosity had led to his violent demise. Perhaps one day, he pondered, someone of intellect and wit would create a proverb based on his violent end.

As he had gradually become one with the universe, Butt Plug felt like an ass.

As did Chloe.

"Egad!" she cried, observing her first spillage of feline brain matter—brain matter of any manner, for that matter—"I have killed a fellow creature!"

The innocent sobbed, drool and driblets of tears raining onto her perky nipples (Chloe being bare-assed naked), which created even more perk.

Zoltan Goolies, ensconced in blocks and shaken to his demonic core by his favorite pet's demise,  screamed, "Butt Plug! Oh, woe! I must have my Butt Plug!"

Chloe, naif in this world of mystifying doohickeys and even more mystifying critters, decided after long deliberation that her Master had to have his Butt Plug.

She edged over to the feline detritus and reached for the fluffy tail. What a once-sweet pussy, she whined to herself. She grasped the hind part, which had suffered mightily in the original seizure, and undertook to raise the dead.

She lifted, watched in horrified fascination as the body left the tail, and heard Sir scream. "My Butt Plug! I need it!"

The Exalted One had spoken. Chloe, discombobulated as never before, grabbed the more fully intact cat corpse in both hands and carried it, leaving behind a trail of brain debris and bits from the belly of the beast, to her beloved Master.

Chloe's befuddled mind, uncluttered in the best of times, now a confusion of chaos in possibly the worst, registered "Butt Plug!" and "Give it!" Thus did she hear that her Master needed a butt plug. And thus did she begin to shove the beloved carcass through the anus and into the rectal canal of her beloved Sir, who coincidentally was naked but for black knee-high stockings and Manolo Blahniks, over the sides of which his ankles bulged charmingly.

Zoltan Goolies, ever cool and calculating, screamed, "Let loose my pretty puss, you pusillanimous—yet alluring—ailurophobe."

Chloe withdrew, leaving Butt Plug's leftovers dangling from the Exalted One's derriere.

She had achieved a considerable insertion, considering the girth of the grue and the amplitude of the anus.

"Oh, you treacherous tart," grunted Goolies, now squeezing his buttocks, apparently to more fully appreciate the furry texture and meaty stuffing of his anal addition, "you have done the unthinkable. My ass and my puss are now one! Oh, joy! Oh, bliss!

"Now I must have the cane! The crop! The lash! You must flog my late furry friend ever deeper inside. Fill me with the glory of Butt Plug!"

As Chloe, naked, bloody, beautiful, babe-in-the-woods Chloe, cast about for a cane sturdy enough to fulfill her Master's demands, she heard him exulting.

"Oh, Butt Plug, old pal! You do me proud! To think I had become satisfied with those insipid gerbils. You, mi amigo, have filled my heart as you have filled my hole. Grassy ass."

Chloe, having located a decently stiff, rough-hewn rod, rushed to his excellency and thrashed him mightily amidships. The blow dislodged bits of Butt Plug as it buried Goolies' once-curious companion ever farther into its makeshift sarcophagus.

"Jesus Christ!" her Master caterwauled. "Are you on steriods, wench? You attack me in these stocks as if you were Barry Bonds!"

Goolies immediately began guffawing. "Stocks! Bonds! Get it?! I am delirious with deranged delight! You, my most ducky defiler, have delivered me into worlds of enchantment I could never even have imagined!

"O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! Have at me again, Baby Ruth!"

Chloe drew back her timber, paused to give herself that extra soupcon of power, and swung.

In microseconds she held up, like an Argus-eyed hitter espying a split-fingered fastball. She lowered her weapon and watched as the cadaver that was once a precious little ball of fur began to glow.

Slowly yet brilliantly, the former fur ball began to resolve itself into a dewy form, which gradually took on a human shape.

First feet, wearing sandals. Chloe guessed size 10. Then a hint of ankle. Then the beginning of a robe of red so pure that it made Chloe's twat begin to weep. She dropped her cudgel, fell to her knees and, mesmerized by the heavenly miracle taking place before her, began to rub the hell out of her clit.

Beneath the robe, Chloe detected the shape of calves, thighs, buttocks, back, shoulders. The robe was vented to allow a pair of enormous white wings to spread themselves wide.

Above the wings was what one might assume was a head, wedged deep in the Impaled One's ass.

Two robed arms rose, two hands grasped ass cheeks, and, after a brief struggle, out popped what indeed was a head. The head shook itself, looked around, and smiled when it saw Chloe on her knees, eyes aglow, wanking as if God himself had commanded it.

Surprisingly, the head and face were immaculate. Not a trace of ... pollution, either feline or human.

The noggin was of a Caucasian male. It contained long black hair, stylish two-day beard, straight, elegant nose, smooth skin, strong chin, green eyes, eyebrows.

"Tell me, child, what is your name?" the man said.

"Chloe, sir," Chloe said, her cunt cream now flowing like wine at a gathering of Catholic priests.

From a distance her Master could be heard shouting, "What the fuck's going on? Where did my Butt Plug go? Who's that talking back there? Someone flog me! NOW!!!!!!!"

"Child, I am the angel Felinius." He gave Chloe an angelic once-over, innocently ogling her sweet, wet thighs, her precious, wet pubes, her bounteous, bloody breasts. "I am the patron saint of shattered and unsheltered pussies."

"Get me out of this thing!" Chloe could hear in her Master's voice that he was feeling ignored. His girl was addressing another man, after all. And his ass was empty.

"So nice to meet you, angel, sir," Chloe told Felinius. "But now I must free my true patron saint, my Master, my Exalted One."

Felinius glanced at Goolies' ass and nodded. 'Ah, yes. We are quite familiar with Zoltan Goolies, sweet cherub. Some call him Count. The heavens call him ... Goo."

From several feet away came the command: "Wretched enchantress, loose me from this contraption at once! I have lost one pussy today. I shan't lose another."

Quick as a two-dollar whore falls to her knees, Chloe was on her feet, rushing to the stocks, using her sticky hands to open it, helping the Exalted to step free.

Goolies wobbled toward the new arrival.

"You say, so-called angel, that you are the patron saint of cats. I, a cat lover, know you for the liar you are."

Goolies sneered in comely fashion. "An angel you might be. But the patron saint of cats you are not. Admit the truth if you dare."

Felinius, a stranger to sneers, simply nodded again and said, "Of course you are correct, Goo. A clarification, though, if I may. St. Gertrude, as you know, is patron saint of cats. However, because of the proliferation of pussies, she has been named team leader of a group of heavenly creatures catering to cats. I have been designated patron saint of shattered and unsheltered pussies."

Goolies grimaced, and Chloe saw in his eyes her true Master, the Lord of lords, her secret sweetie.

"Well, so-called angel and pussy panderer, if you are what you say, I have a cat that you must meet. But beware the jaws that bite, the claws that catch. I'll say nothing about the frumious Bandersnatch. Have you the beatific balls to meet said cat?"

Angel Felinius bowed first to Goolies and then to Chloe, who stood dripping lust and wonder from every pore, awed by these glorious goings-on.

"Good sir, I am a servant of all manner of cat. I fear no pussy. Tell me, and I shall serve."

"First, off with that obnoxious robe. The red doesn't tie the room together. Chloe, help the so-called angel off with that silly gown."

Chloe began her approach, but Felinius simply twitched his nose, and the robe was gone. He stood naked before the both of them, his arms at his sides, as if he had nothing to hide.

Which, in fact, was the case. His body was without any sign of sexuality. He had no nipples, no penis. He was bare of hair. He did have a nice pair of legs, Chloe noticed. And his wings were ... really big. But they paled in comparison to her Master's modest (the size of a baby's pacifier) yet mighty wanger.

"Hey! What's going on here, so-called angel?" the Exalted One inquired cholerically. "Your body is hairless and yet you wear a George Michael beard. You have no cock, no balls, no sexual apparatus of any sort. And yet you wear a George Michael beard. Is this a prank? Are you really George Michael?"

The angel chuckled. "No, no. This is but a bit of makeup to allow me to appear human, somewhat masculine. As is the long, lustrous black hair and Adam's apple. Adam was a friend of mine, you know. An interesting tidbit: The belief that the term 'Adam's apple' derives from the biblical tale of Adam and Eve is apocryphal. It actually—"

"On, shut up!" the Master interjected. "We have more important matters: You were awaiting introduction to my other special cat, the one I call ... My Other Special Cat!"

Felinius bowed again. "Show me the way, sir. I am but your humble servant in all things cat."

Goolies smirked. "Yes, indeed. You and the rest of heaven and earth."

Then Goolies cackled. "Girl, please help Mr. Felonious—"

"Felinius, sir. The name, for God's sake, is Felinius."

"We'll see about God. Now, girl with the golden pubes, place the so-called angel in the stocks. And be sure to lock him in securely."

"Fear not, good sir. I shall not struggle. I shall not flee. I shall stay, and see what there is to see."

"Oh, please, Mr. Poet. Do you seduce your cats with such doggerel? Enough! Into the stocks, you. Girl, step to."

Chloe gently clasped an angelic arm and led Felinius to the contraption. He placed himself in the proper position, wrists and neck in their grooves, prepared for securing. Chloe lowered the upper board, latched the latch, and left Felinius nakedly vulnerable.

The Exalted One's face twisted into something between a sneer and a smirk, and Chloe cherished him the more for it.

"Now, feeble excuse for a hummingbird, you shall know the real truth about cats. Stand back, girl. This cat needs room to groove."

As the Master selected a whip from his flagellation station, Felinius cleared his throat.

"Pardon me, Goo," Felinius said, "but a few pieces of information for your edification. First, this device you've snared me in is more accurately called a pillory. Second, I feel no pain in your earthly demesne."

"Again with the rhyming! Pillory. Hillary. Billery. What matter the name when its purpose is served."

"Just trying to help, Goo."

The Master had selected his whip, a nice little number known among the cognoscenti as a "singletail." He snapped once, twice, thrice in preparation.

"You'll know true goo when I get through. Oh damn! Extra lashes for inciting me to rhyme!"

Count Zoltan Goolies drew back his arm, the whip curling snakelike behind him.

He looked toward his slave girl, leered, and said, "Aw, we were only joshin'. We wouldn't spank a saint!"

Chloe glowed in the face of her Master's dissimulation. Such deceit! His lies were like manna.

Immediately the whip flew, the tip sending a feather flying off an angel wing.

"Yowwwww! Not the wings!"

Goolies only grimaced as he continued flailing, sending feathers fluttering hither and yon. Several times he switched floggers, each leaving its own special mark.

In the beginning Felinius cried out for surcease. But as the lashing continued, the angel grew silent, flinching occasionally. Then he began to moan. Then to implore his assailant for more. And more.

"Oh shit!" he shouted as the leather stripped him of his invulnerability. "The lash arouses me so! How can this be? Oh, if I only had a cock!"

Chloe, on her haunches, wished also for a cock, that special first one, to plunder her virginal vaginal subway. And in her heart she knew it would be the Exalted's tiny tim.

God bless him, everyone, she beseeched the world.

Just as Jesus wept, Chloe's cunt dribbled tears of yearning. As she watched and listened to the beatific beating taking place nearby, she touched herself. Her fingers filled her crystal cathedral, found a rhythm in and out to match the lashes and the angelic cries of ecstasy.

"Now what have you to say, so-called angel?" the Exalted One inquired courteously of the celestial being.

"Oh, sir, I can feel! I am finally, truly alive! The loving touch of your leather has shown me my special purpose! To serve you! To crave the wielding of your will. Child, join me here and feel life as only life can be felt."

Chloe crawled across the floor, digits still diddling. She kowtowed at the feet of Felinius, and accepted her share of the Master's ministrations. Finally, she was in heaven, her fingers touching the stars, her ass in full moon.

As the blissful beating continued, Felinius cried out, "Yes, you are the Master! But, sir, you are so much more! What name shall we call you? What apellation will suffice to express the magnitude of your largesse?"

Goolies' arm was growing weary, but the girl and the so-called angel had to know his dominance.

As the licking continued, Count Zoltan Goolies said quietly, making his new angels strain to hear, "You, craven creatures, may call me, for want of a better term ... God."

_______
© 2008 Brady Sutton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Brady Sutton likes to write, which he does a lot because he has no job. Any employer willing to hire a man who will spend his work time dreaming up stories rather than performing actual labor can reach Brady at bradys34@hotmail.com or bradys34@yahoo.com. (Salary negotiable)


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