"Lori, number 3." The voice comes over the little speaker and a grin traces its way across my lips. I am Lori and my owner is behind door number 3.

I am sitting at the little makeup desk in my office. I pick up the black leather collar and buckle it around my neck. I love the way it feels, just snug enough that if my owner tugs, it bites a bit. I like that. Pain is a good reminder, a good teacher.

Are you going to watch me? Here, sit here in my dressing room and watch the television. See, you can see my master there. He can wait a few moments, it only makes it better.

What? Wow, you don't have to be so judgmental. You have no idea who I am or what happens here. I mean, let's not forget, a few seconds ago, you said you were a little intimidated by... all of this.

Here, let's see if I can't put some things in perspective, help you to understand what you are about to watch or witness or whatever you want to call it. __

I was seventeen when I gave my first blowjob. He parked the car on the side of a road that hadn't ever been finished under a bridge that was the same. We were both seniors in high school. He was a soccer player and I was in drama. We had a few classes together; a bunch of friends in common, and that was how we got together.

That night, I did my best to please him. It was clumsy and frenetic. I couldn't get my mouth right and he grabbed everything way too hard, but neither of us cared. The performance didn't matter, our expectations only got in the way. When I sat down in the car and he started driving, all either of us knew was what we wanted. He wanted to touch my tits and I wanted to suck his dick.

What does that have to do with this? Simple, it's not always about what you expect. It's about more than that. Sometimes your expectations are met, sometimes they're missed. Sometimes you are in control and sometimes you're controlled.

In the end, isn't it all about pleasure? How much pleasure do you get in a day? Me? I prefer as much as possible, all I can get.

That's why I'm a pet. I don't know if that first experience in the back of Jake's Oldsmobile has anything to do with it, maybe it doesn't, but I like to think it does. I like to think it was the first step, the catalyst the led me down this road. I kind of like that, the way it all ties together.

Oh, now you're interested? Good. Now, just sit here and watch what happens on that screen. We'll talk when I get...

"Lori, number 3, please."

That's my queue.

I slip out of my chair and onto my hands and knees. The carpet pushes into the palms of my hands and the curve of my knees. It doesn't hurt, but it almost does, I can feel it. I arch my back, first up and then down, stretching. I lift my arm, lick the back of my wrist, and rub it behind the furry, purple ear on top of my head.

Turning toward you, I see the lust in your eyes. You were staring at my ass, watching my body move. Yes, that tail is exactly what you think it is.

Crawling across the hall, I nudge the door open with my head and slip inside. My owner is waiting, sitting on the couch across the room.

He spots me and his eyes go wide for a moment as he takes me in and then smiles. He is pleased with me and, for the next space of time, I am his pet fox and he is my master.

Lifting the little black leash in his hands, he pats the sofa with his free hand. He wants me to come over to him but instead, I eye him cautiously.

"Here you go, come here." Although he is a big man, he fills out the expensive suit well, my owner's voice is soft, soothing almost.

Crawling languidly, showing off how lithe I am, how graceful and animal like, I move down the wall on the opposite side of the room slowly. I come to a chair and, with a quick glance toward the couch, I slide my body along the wooden leg and then down the side, being sure to lengthen every muscle across my naked midsection.

He is watching. His eyes appraise me as I move down the chair and then turn in between the legs, snaking through them. "Come on," he pats the seat beside him; the leash's clip jingles at the end.

I stop and stare at the leash, my body curved against the inside of the chair's legs. I arch my back. I feel like an animal now and a little thrill of excitement vibrates through my chest.

"Here," my owner moves to the edge of the couch. "Come here," he coos.

I dart from between the chair's legs to the other side of the room near a large, potted plant, a tree of some sort. There is space between the plant and a bureau. I slip into it and turn around so that only my head is visible. I look at him.

He is on the floor now, on his knees, and looking at me expectantly. "It's okay, come here." He sets the leash down and removes his coat, tossing it gently back onto the couch before picking up the leash again.

I stare at him. His shirt is crisp with silver buttons that twinkle in the light.

Picking up the leash he gently reaches toward me.

I don't like the leash, not until I am ready for it. Some animals do, some animals prefer their owners to leash them, but I am a fox, not a dog, or a pony. I am a fox; leashes only suit us when they suit us.

It takes a few moments for him to realize what I am looking at, but when he does, he smiles and tosses the leash on the sofa behind him. "Oh, is that better?"

I lick the back of my wrist and rub behind my left ear. My breasts, almost spilling out of the black lace bra, sway with the motion. I do love the way my body feels when I am on all fours, the way it moves and hangs. It's so different than standing.

My owner smiles and stretches. He looks like he just came from a board room. There are cuff links on his wrists that match his buttons. His shoes are ostrich leather and well-heeled. His face is smooth like he just came from a barber with a straight razor. His eyes are kind and there is a confidence, a strength in the way he holds himself.