GUEST POST #4 THE WONDERFULLY NAUGHTY AMY O RIZZO

Guest post number 4.

I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am to share the immense talent of Amy O Rizzo with all of you. She pretends to be such a nice girl, but as I’ve always suspected nice girls have a naughty streak. Amy proves that here with this amazing tale of erotic horror.

 I’ve read this story in two or three drafts because she is a perfectionist. No matter how many times I told her it was perfect she would revamp it, whisking it away to her land of rainbows and unicorns where she would shut the blinds and lock the door and let Evil Amy out to play.

She is an incredibly talented writer and a very good friend of mine. We bonded over a muffin (yes, I said MUFFIN, not MUFF) discussion a while back, and ever since then we have been great friends. She is an invaluable critic, editor, and friend. 

She is better known as @punkrizz on twitter, and her hysterical blog (which is ABSOLUTLY nothing like this one) continually gets rave reviews by everyone who comes across it. She even let me guest post over there earlier this week, which just shows how sweet and kind Amy can be when she isn’t letting her freak flag fly. She also has a book coming out the beginning of next year, Book Burning, which she has told me absolutely nothing about, yet I can’t wait to read. You can find out more about her on her website.

So make sure the kids are put to bed, the shades are drawn, and your gimp is safely stowed in the overhead compartment. Loosen the ropes on your wrist enough to allow movement of your mouse, and enjoy the brilliance that is:

@PunkRizz chained to my laptop

Blogger of creativity, Writer of paranormal fantasy,horror and general raunch. First novel Book Burning tbr 2012. My tweets are a minor scandal.

http://www.amyorizzo.com

HIS PET

By: Amy O Rizzo

He was needed at home. There hadn’t been a phone call from his security man, Jerrold, warning him of an emergency. Yet he had the feeling anyway, a build-up of tension in his gut that spurred him to press heavily on the accelerator. The German sedan responded beautifully, taking a tight corner without disturbing the body behind him. The gentle rhythm of wiper blades seemed to echo his thoughts.

Hurry.

There were few cars at this hour, and the weather was taking a turn for the worse. When the fat sound of rain had been replaced by the staccato of sleet, the man permitted himself to relax slightly into the leather seat. He silently thanked the dismal weather and the perfect cover it would provide when he dragged the body inside. His neighbors, in the off chance that they were awake, wouldn’t see more than gray shadows.

 He pressed a button on the console to call Jerrold and dismissed him with a few words in their native tongue. By the time he drove the car through the wrought iron gate, the brownstone was dark and deserted. The high narrow windows looked sorrowful around their heavy damask curtains where no light could escape. Not that his pet would anticipate lighting the way for his arrival, nor was she permitted to roam the house unaccompanied. With that thought, his earlier sense of urgency returned.

The brick was icy at the back of the house as he made his way along the path that led to the cellar door. His hand-stitched loafers almost finished him on the stairs, but he made it safely inside and emerged moments later with a bundle of sailcloth. It was a simple task to haul the corpse out of the backseat and onto the cloth, the stranger’s head making a meaty thud against the edge of the car. With a practiced movement he unlocked the back door that led to the mudroom and tugged the unresisting man inside, but the harsh overhead light did little to dispel the mystery surrounding the stranger.

His evening had begun in a typical manner; dinner and cigars at the club, followed by cognac and a hand of Madrasso afterwards with several associates. The stranger approached their table soon after the second hand had been dealt. That’s when the trouble began. The stranger smiled as he asked his subtly persistent questions, spoken in a familiar accent that could not go ignored.

Cursing himself for his distraction, the man wrapped the body tight and hoisted it over his shoulder. With one arm gripping the solid mahogany banister, he made his way up the oriental runner to the second floor. One more flight of stairs, this one slightly smaller, and he was outside her bower. In moments he would be with her, and all the tortured desire of the day could be assuaged inside her tender flesh. He would lay this tribute at her perfect feet and permit her to feed. But only after she gave him what he craved.

Theirs was a symbiotic relationship, a mutual need that first inspired him to drag her from the bloody tatters of her mother’s womb many years ago. Under the watchful eyes of his family, he had raised her in their honored tradition. She was carefully reared in the manner of her forebears, and when she reached the proper age, she was trained to please him in any manner he desired. She couldn’t survive in the world without him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

After the complicated lock gave way, he pushed the door open to reveal a long, sparsely decorated space. The room ran the entire length of the house with the roof sloping on each side into dormers. Light from the hallway trickled along the stone floor to feebly pluck at the corners.

His entrance didn’t go unnoticed, and as he stood there breathing in the scents of their shared space, his pet rose from her nest of silken sheets. Her long blond hair was tousled from sleep, and she gave him a half-smile as she rubbed her eyes. She padded towards him, her breasts swaying tantalizing under his gaze, until she was almost within reach. He watched her face avidly and knew the exact second she scented the corpse. Her delicate nostrils flared, and he caught a flash of her strong, pointed teeth.

“Master,” she purred, “you have brought me something, I think.” Her voice still carried the full vowels of their homeland, forcing him to think of the stranger again.

“I have, although that wasn’t my intention,” he snapped.

She stilled at his tone and brought wary eyes to his face. Inwardly he sighed with satisfaction. He loved watching her respond.

He let the body drop, the limbs rolling within their shroud. He gave a brief inspection of his driving gloves and then abandoned them to the pile.  There was no help for it. They would have to be burned with the rest.

“Have you missed me, pet?” he asked. She wasn’t permitted to touch herself when he was absent, and he scrutinized every inch of her body looking for the telltale signs of pleasure. She was petite and perfectly formed, her lithe body camouflaging a deadly strength.

“Yes, Master,” she said, relaxing slightly at the familiar social exchange. She was nude except for her collar, and the contrast of the thick leather against her porcelain skin never failed to arouse him.

“This man trespassed into my club today and began asking questions about you. He hinted that he was into collecting exotics, and did I know of anyone who was interested.” Leaning down, he yanked back the flap of sailcloth. “Do you know him?” he demanded.

She dropped to her knees and bent low over the stranger’s face, strands of her hair shielding her expression. Finally, she looked up at him with wide, gray eyes. “I do not, Master.”

He knew it was ridiculous to ask her, although he’d never admit it out loud. If he wasn’t in this room with his pet, then she was locked behind a steel reinforced door and safely shut away from the world. She returned to her inspection of the stranger, and her inattention irked him.

“Do you like him, pet?” he asked and hooked a finger over the edge of her collar.

“He smells like home, Master.”

The wistful comment made his heart twist, but this was one thing he could never give her. They could never return to their homeland. Even if it wasn’t forbidden, the chances of them being able to live peacefully were almost nonexistent.

He gave the collar a hard yank to aid in focusing her. “You’ve forgotten something.”

“Yes, Master,” she murmured and began helping him out of his wool overcoat. The cashmere scarf came next, and he watched with delight as she stretched on tiptoe to unwind it. Impulsively he captured a pink nipple in his mouth and gently applied his teeth around the areola. She made a noise in the back of her throat, and he knew that she was his again.

He released her breast but grabbed a thin wrist, tugging her forward. He didn’t need to look for his equipment or glance at the squat desk that held them. His eyes were only for her and her growing excitement. Once he had bound her hands, he hooked them to a chain dangling from the center beam. Her breathing had grown ragged with anticipation, sweat coating her skin in a fine sheen. With a few minor adjustments, the chain was slowly lifted until her body was stretched almost to the point of pain. He shoved the desk under her feet, and she exhaled a small sigh of relief.

At this height she was perfect for him, and he traced an open palm down her side, over a hip bone to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The muscle quivered under his inquisitive fingers, and as he soothed her with one hand, his other hand found the heat between her legs. She obligingly widened her stance, her clitoris swollen and hypersensitive.

The corpse had been calculated foreplay on his part. Killing the man had been an accident, but he couldn’t let the opportunity of a fresh corpse go to waste. His pet could see the dead man from her perch on the desk, and he knew that the combination of her building sexual and physical hungers would lead to a mind-blowing orgasm for both of them.

He glanced down and began unbuckling his belt, sliding it free from its loops.

“Master.”

“Be still,” he murmured. The zipper had become stuck, and swallowing an oath, he pulled at it again. He’d have to leave a note for the housekeeper to send the pants to the tailor.

“Master,” she said, and something in her voice made him look at her.

Her eyes were the color of thunderclouds, and they were fixated on his neck. The hairs along the back of his neck prickled in warning.

“What?” he asked, touching the base of his throat. He felt the telltale wetness before he brought his fingers up to the light. He stared at the smear of glossy red across his fingers and ran through the events of the night in a detached way, suddenly remembering when the stranger had stabbed him. In the heat of their struggle, he hadn’t given the shallow wound much thought. It must have opened up again when she took off the scarf.

His pet.

She stared at him with an intent look, her top lip curled in mimicry of a smile. He had observed that particular expression many times over the decades, but it had never been directed at him. He had never been food.

Shoving his fear ruthlessly to the side, he drew up to his full height, every inch the commanding Dominant that only years of superior breeding could produce. He opened his mouth to command her, and she stuck.

She lunged faster than he thought possible, her shoulder dislocating with a pop as she fought her bindings. With a loud groan the chain gave way, dropping around them like a metal snake. Even as her teeth sank into his neck, part of his brain refused to accept that his pet was capable of such disobedience. A strangled scream left him when one of her arms wrapped around his torso, her hand gouging into the tender skin below his ribcage. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to pry her off, but in the end, her strength was greater than his. She rode him to the floor, crushing his elbow to further incapacitate him. The pain was excruciating as he felt her mouth worry the wound at his neck, sinking deeper to find the artery beneath.

He knew he was going to die soon, and he was grateful for an end to the indignity. He hadn’t managed to pass out when his pet had ripped open his stomach, and the sodden noises of her feeding were too much to bear. His parents would be very disappointed in him. To allow a pet to act willfully and beyond control was inexcusable. As his vision dimmed, he could almost hear their voices. They would view the carnage, shake their heads and say, “what a damnable way to submit.”

He agreed.

The End

…And there goes her nice girl image. Just like that.

If you are not following the gorgeous Amy on twitter (@punkrizz) than you need to do so. Her posts are hilarious, insightful, and just plain fun. Check out her blog. When the book comes out, buy it. Leave lots of comments for her and let her know just how amazing her story is. I know you are going to be seeing a lot of her in my dark little corner of the internet.