The first few times Mistress invited her new girlfriend over, pet was simply confined to her crate at the end of the bed; lying there, blindfolded and tightly bound in her sleepsack, mantras of obedience droning softly in her headphones, she would listen to the muffled sounds of their passion, the scent of their exertion, aching to be used.

The fourth, or fifth date - she didn't know which, Mistress's breastmilk was making her mind so soft and weak - pet was carried up onto the bed, Mistress angling her feet over her girlfriend's pussy and sliding them back and forth, the slick, wet flesh painting her soles with pussyjuice.

"Tonight, pet, you're going to be our sex-toy, our little dildo-girl," Mistress murmured, and pet could hear the smirk in her voice, "and if you're *very* well-behaved, you'll end tonight in my womb."

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