The Owned By Studs Bundle Read online

  A few years ago, Juliana had a stalker. Police had taken care of him rather quickly. They ran her through the entire behavior pattern of those individuals—information that Juliana was careful to keep on file.

  Shana inspected the package for a moment. “There's no markings on it.”

  A cool breeze swept into the house, giving Juliana a distinct sense of fatigue.

  “It's probably from the owner of the place, then. Or someone on the team. Don't worry. I'll look at it later. Why don't you go out and grab a drink?”

  “For you?”

  Juliana smiled. “For you, girl. You've been working all day. Go relax. I'll be doing the same.”

  Shana looked at her with soft, open adoration in her eyes. “You'll call me if you need me, right?”

  “Of course.”

  As Shana exited the house, Juliana closed all the curtains and windows. She wanted her privacy.

  Shana clearly had a crush on her, and had for a while, now. That was why she had fired her old assistant, and the one before her, and the one before her. All of them were women, except for one, who had identified themselves as lifetime heterosexuals. The one gay assistant Juliana employed had been a man, who was writing her love letters after seven months.

  It was something she got used to, after a while. Most people couldn't help but fall in love with her after doing errands for her for so long. The poor dears just became entranced by the endless wealth of sensuality she exuded.

  She placed the package on the island in the kitchen. The wine glasses were in the counter above the sink, and a new bottle of wine was thoroughly chilled in the fridge. She poured herself half a glass, and stripped the package of its brown paper.

  Inside was an envelope, and a carved ebony box.

  The envelope read, “Juliana.”

  She opened it up.

  Inside was a card, a picture of a jeweled collar on the front. The inside had a message:

  You can't hide from what you need, slave.

  - Master

  She had to set her wine glass down, pushing back against the refrigerator. Her hand immediately undid the towel around her waist, letting it drop to the floor as her fingers slid into the sweet, hot warmth of her pussy.

  Slut.

  Whore.

  Slavecunt.

  She whimpered helplessly, remembering the rendezvous with Nathan. His powerful chest. His enormous cock sliding down her throat. That feeling of mindless, obedient bliss when he touched her...

  That's all that you are. Just my slavewhore fuckcunt little sexdoll. You'll be such a hot ornament for me to show off.

  Her fingers slid up and down the smooth, wet surface of her mound, sending hot pulses of pleasure through her incredible body. Closing her eyes, concentrating, she moved her shaky fingers over to her wineglass and took a deep gulp.

  For several minutes, she drank the glass of wine and simply stared at the package.

  Perhaps it was . . . some kind of an apology?

  What if it was a collar, like what was on the card?

  Slave.

  Whore.

  Cunt.

  A brilliantly engraved collar with her name on it, branding her as his property for now and forever.

  Her cunt quivered, needy once more for the touch of her knowing fingers.

  Instead, she slid open the box, pausing just for a moment to admire the smoothness of it, the craftsmanship.

  She gasped. Inside was a large, solid gold dildo There was another card on top of it:

  For good slaves only.

  Disgust poured through Juliana's body. That . . . that pig.

  What, she was just supposed to play with herself with something he had delivered because it was him who delivered it? She was supposed to become some masturbating slut, filling herself with a gold sex toy, because she was worth millions and millions of dollars and desperately needed to be on her knees at all times before him?

  She was . . . she was supposed to kneel . . .

  The disgust in her quickly translated into heat, her pussy throbbing. She slid her fingers over the dildo.

  She was never going to use it, of course. She respected herself too much.

  Her fingers danced along its long curve, the thickness of the head.

  It was so smooth, though.

  And if she used it, he would never know anyway, unless she told him. And she, of course, had no intention of ever speaking to him again.

  Probably he had planned on her using it, somehow. He had licked it, maybe, or run his precum-dripping cock all over the gold.

  Shivering, she held the toy up to her nose, sniffing. Was that just the faintest hint of his smell, there? That manly, dominating musk that had put her in her place right on her knees before his overwhelming masculinity?

  It was her smell that she remembered most clearly. It stayed in her head. Affected her thoughts. Made her go deeper and deeper down, unquestioning and fervently obeying. Just the trace of it, now, was enough to drive her wild.

  Juliana put the dildo down, struggling to keep her hands still. It clacked on the counter.

  If she were to take the long, damp tresses of her hair, say, and tie them around that towel rack, and lean forward just a bit, that would feel . . .

  That would feel almost like it was when he had tugged her hair back. When he had unveiled the incredible, hot force of his will on her.

  Biting her lip, she tried it out, looping the thick hot mesh of her hair around and tying it through. She leaned forward.

  Oh god. That hot yanking sensation. Her knees fluttered, almost giving out completely. The pure, sexy thrill of being tugged in a direction opposite of what she tried.

  The gold toy was just within arm's reach. She leaned forward—feeling that hot tug again—and grabbed it. For just a few moments, she luxuriated in its feel, how smooth and cool it was, before untying her bikini bottom. The thin fabric falling revealed her tight, already moist pussy, completely bare of any hair.

  The gold dildo slid inside her fabulous cunt easily. It was so wonderful to pump inside of herself, to massage her clit with one hand and fill her needy, wet snatch with the dildo in the other.

  Slave.

  Sextoy.

  Decoration.

  She whimpered, picking up her pace. There was no telling what most every man would give to see such a sight; her supermodel body writhing in pleasure from a gold sex toy that must have cost thousands and thousands of dollars.

  She couldn't get the thought of her head—on her knees before him, sucking him on his command. Having her face fucked by his perfect rod, being used by her utterly.

  Object.

  She hated the idea of being objectified. And yet it couldn't be just coincidence that it turned her on so much . . .

  Slavecunt.

  Oh god, yes. Sometimes she really did feel like she had a hot little slavecunt, waiting to be filled by only the right man.

  My slave.

  Her cunt dripping down on the dildo, a sweet hot wave of orgasm rushed through her body. She spasmed and pushed forward against her own hair as she did, being yanked backward hard as she bucked against the gold toy.

  Breathing hard, Juliana let the gold toy clatter down to the floor.

  Normally, after something like that, she felt like she would be squirming with shame, unable to do anything for the rest of the night.

  But for some reason, the balance had shifted. Even though she felt that shame, that humiliation sliding through her bones, it only fueled her desire for more. For an interaction with another.

  * * * * *

  Being the world's highest paid supermodel meant that even the throwaway clothes you took with you to a small Peruvian town were lovingly made and thoroughly expensive.

  Her high-heeled over-the-knee boots were dark and suede, her tight two-tone red and black minidress soft, sensual cotton. The cloth over her perfect ass was bright red, shifting into a deep, lovely black around her back and chest, where it dipped into a happy, wide “V�
� shape, showing off how shiny, round, and sensationally sloping her tits could be.

  Just to make sure whoever saw her knew she was out for fun, she put on thick gold hoop earrings and matching gold bangles on her wrists. Her hair, still somewhat tangled from her cunt-drippingly perfect experiment with the towel bar, was put up in a thick, long low ponytail, tied off with a diamond-studded band.

  Juliana paused in front of the mirror next to the door for a moment, examining herself. Anyone that saw her, man or woman, would immediately think she was on the prowl for a good, thorough fucking.

  Good.

  Dressed fully, she strutted out the door. It was about eleven o'clock at night. The bar where the shoot crew always hung out—where they had invited her to come out for the past two nights—was only a ten minute walk away.

  At eleven, the night in Peru was just getting started. Couples were just meeting to have dinners, and children still played in the streets. Juliana noted with a grin every time a man stopped whatever he was doing—drinking a beer, talking to his wife, watching traffic—to see her sway by.

  Tonight, she was an object. She was something to be admired by the gazes of others.

  Slavecunt.

  The name of the bar was “Amistoso,” written on a thick black board with white paint that had faded a long time ago. It was a small place—Juliana's penthouse bathroom in New York was probably bigger—with smoke and loud, thumping music pouring out of the windows.

  A crowd of men smoking cigarettes stood at the door, eyeing Juliana hungrily. But then, of course they were.

  Object.

  Trophy.

  Whore. Whore. Whore.

  They moved aside for her when she smiled appreciatively, passing out winks like they were candy. As if they could possibly one day sample what she had.

  Inside, she felt time slow down as all the eyes locked on to her. She bent over at the bar—her heels making her so tall, pushing up the delectable heart-shape of her ass—and ordered a bottle of beer. Of course, it arrived right away, and of course, five men offered to pay for her.

  Feeling generous, she let one of them do it. She took a moment to let the bottle slide against her plush lips, twirling her tongue around the opening, before cocking her head back and downing a long, luxurious gulp.

  The beer mixed with the wine in her system, heightening the giddy, head-swimming heat she was already swimming in.

  Deep in the corner of the bar, she saw Shana, suddenly sitting by herself. Juliana got the impression that only moments before, Shana—so lovely in her lowcut black dress and pump heels—had been receiving the lion's share of the attention in the small, dingy arena.

  A song with a thick beat came on, and a hot notion took Juliana.

  She started taking long, slow, deliberate steps toward Shana, a model's walk in tune with the beat of the song playing. Everyone cleared out of her way. That was only correct—to make way for Juliana, when she was so heart-achingly gorgeous.

  Juliana strutted right up to the table of Shana and then thrust out her incredible rear, shaking it from side to side. Like she was posing on a runway. Then she walked back to the bar, with the same hot, long steps. Her heels clicking with every beat of the song. She could hear them clearly.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Slave. Slave. Slave.

  Men started clapping as she danced, thrusting her hips from side to side, pushing her hands through the thick, silken mess of her hair. She would take a long step and stop to grind her hips back and forth. Another step, another long grinding session, like she was dancing with some invisible lover who was feeling up her hot body. Thick beads of sweat started to form on her neck, her chest, making her skin shiny and sparkling in the dim light.

  The song's beat died out, and Juliana was back in front of Shana's table. The poor girl was awestruck, her mouth open. Shana's dress had translucent mesh from her chest to her neck, and Juliana could easily see the long flush moving from her forehead all the way down to her cleavage.

  I'll make this easy, Juliana thought.

  Giggling, she slid on Shana's lap.

  “I-Juliana,” the blonde stuttered. “You're so beautiful. I mean, you're great. I mean, you're really . . . wow. You're so beautiful.”

  Juliana just giggled, tracing her finger along Shana's chin, and then the rosy tilt of her lips. Normally, it would have turned her off to hear such open praise about her appearance.

  But tonight, and maybe only for tonight, it didn't bother her. She may as well enjoy it.

  So she nodded, her long hair sliding up and down Shana's bountiful cleavage.

  “You're right.” Juliana purred. “I am. Great. Beautiful. And 'wow.'”

  Juliana leaned forward, pressing her tits into Shana's chin. Shana breathed in deep, closing her eyes, like she was going into a trance as Juliana's heady scent slid directly into her boozed braincells.

  “You know, Shana,” Juliana purred, “I've wanted you for the longest time, now.”

  “You have?”

  Juliana nodded with false earnestness. The motion pressed the hot crease of her cleavage into Shana's chin even more.

  “Oh yes. I've wanted you to come into my bedroom at a hotel, or at my place in the city, or in my little house back by the beach, and I've wanted you to be wearing nothing but . . .”

  She giggled softly, once, sliding a hand up Shana's dress.

  “ . . . nothing but a tiny little dress and some sexy 'fuck-me' heels. And I've wanted you to tell me to lick your pussy or else you would quit.”

  Shana still had her eyes closed, her head sliding backward. It was as if she was afraid that opening her eyes would end the dream.

  “Oh, Juliana . . .”

  “Is that naughty of me?” she licked her lips. “Was that bad? Should I have kept my mouth shut?”

  “No.” Shana shook her head fervently. Her slim hands started running up Juliana's side. “No! It's just . . . I have so many feelings, and you're so, so beautiful, and, Juliana, I like you so much—”

  Juliana cut her off with a charged, spark-forming kiss. Their lips locked together for several seconds, the entire bar erupting in applause. Shana tasted like beer and honey.

  The smoking hot supermodel slid her lips off of Shana's, and pressed her mouth against the blonde's ear.

  “Take me home.”

  Shana nodded eagerly.

  They left, arm in arm, walking quickly through the streets that Juliana had navigated less than fifteen minutes before. Shana said nothing the whole time, exhaling happy little sighs and pressing her body against Juliana's.

  Right outside the door, Shana slipped her hand around Juliana's chin and tugged her in for a moaning, needful kiss, their jaws working together in tandem.

  When they broke off, Shana looked up at her with open, easy love.

  That was going to be a problem. Juliana didn't want a snugglefest with some happy-go-lucky crush. She wanted to be fucked hard and ruthlessly by someone who knew her. Someone that knew what she was.

  Slut.

  Slavecunt.

  Inside the house, Shana flipped on the lights. Juliana put her hand over Shana's on the switch.

  “No,” she said. “Lights off.”

  Shana smiled, doing her best to look naughty. “Mmmhmm. I can enjoy that.”

  “Good.”

  The lights flickered back off, and Juliana strutted into the bedroom.

  She knew Shana was following. How could the poor girl not? She loosened her dress so that the front of it was down, exposing her braless tits. Dark shadows hugged every part of her amazing curves.

  Shana slid close, moaning softly at the sight of Juliana's body. Of course, Shana had already seen Juliana naked—no assistant to a model could help it, there were too many wardrobe changes. But there was a monumental difference in accidental nudity as a product of a work environment and intentional nakedness before a lover.

  “You have to do something else for me,” said Juliana. “A few things.”

/>   Shana nodded, eyes focused almost entirely on Juliana's tits. Her hands came up, sliding over Juliana's thick, erect nipples.

  “I'm going to answer everything you do with 'thank you.' Beg for everything I want with 'please.' If I don't, you're going to spank me, and no matter what I say, you're going to call me your slave. Your slavewhore. Your supermodelslut.”

  Shana's eyes had widened. “I'm . . . I'm not sure, I mean. Wow. That sounds hot, but . . . ”

  “No.” Juliana shook her beautiful head. “No buts. Those are the terms. Take it or leave it.”

  She could see her smile in the darkness. Probing, Shana's hand slid further up Juliana's exposed chest, and then higher, wrapping lightly around her neck. She held on there and pulled her Juliana in tight.

  “You don't set the terms here, slut,” she growled.

  Juliana felt her pussy flood over with lust. This was unexpected. Shana's grip on her neck tightened again.

  “Get on your knees for me, slave.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Juliana mewed, obeying happily.

  “Lick me, slut.”

  Shana shoved Juliana's face into her crotch. Eagerly, Juliana took Shana's panties down and plunged in.

  Her high, carved cheekbones melted into Shana's hot thighs. It was so easy to obey, to lick, to obey, to nuzzle, to obey, to kiss, to obey, obey, obey.

  “That's a good slave.” Shana's voice was high-pitched and breathy. “Such good licking.”

  After a few minutes of Shana's moans, though, Juliana's licks slowed. Something was wrong. She didn't want to lick pussy, not really. That was a lie she told Shana to bring her here.

  She moved away for a moment, and saw the box sitting on her nightstand. She crawled over to it.

  “Jul . . . slave, what are you doing?”

  Juliana grabbed the toy and slid it into Shana's hands. It was so heavy. The hot musk of Juliana's hot, orgasming cunt emanated from it like heat from a furnace.

  “Fuck me with it, please,” whispered Juliana. “Please fuck me with that?”

  A long little whimper slid out of Shana's mouth.

  “Oh,” she said simply. “Oh, yes, slut. I am going to do that.”

  Shana reached down and grabbed Juliana by the neck one more time, leading her up off the ground. Then, fingers still wrapped around Juliana's hot, slender neck muscles, Shana shoved the supermodel's face into the bed.