Heart thumping a little louder with each fold of a thin red dress that’d turned heads all day, Ryenne Mayhew surveyed the yacht’s master bedroom. Details from the brochure bubbled, and she shook her head.

“No, it’s called a cabin,” she murmured. “The owner’s cabin.”

The room reflected the vessel: ultra-luxury. Pure opulence twinkled and gleamed. Both shiny crimson stilettos sank into plush carpeting of seafoam green. Walls ... bulkheads of varnished teak, decorated with lengthy abstracts of blues and greens. Every fitting was of the shiniest gold.

Paint, polish, even the crisp bedding, a veritable mélange of newness, invaded pert nostrils. The fragrance of fresh flowers rose from a thick crystal vase left by her adoring husband Gil. Adding to the mix, the air carried a hint of the broad, dark river beyond the sleek white hull.

Two swift kicks sent the shoes away and let aching feet sink into the supple pile. After a slow exhale, the lithe woman tugged a pair of high-cut red lace panties down long legs. Once free of the sexy gauziness, she pranced naked, with proud boobs wobbling, into the bathroom.

“Nuh-uh, the head,” she whispered, turning on bright overhead lights.

Across an immense white marble countertop spread an array of small tubes and glittery bottles, but she paused to survey the clues left by hubby. On a head-shaped stand of silver plastic, a wig. Its straight black hair with cute bangs would disguise her blonde tresses. Contact lenses, light blue to hide her emeralds, sat in their case.

“Not much to go on, dear,” she mumbled as fingers began moving with a deftness born of thirty-seven years of primping.

Copious use of hairpins left long blonde curls netted under the wig. Once the contact lenses were in place, a quick survey had her grinning, and she searched among the liquids and powders. In silence, the shiny-eyed beauty worked magic until a much sultrier makeup scheme graced her face.

“Hmm, damn near screams, ‘I’m ready for a night of hard-core clubbing, honey.’”

More deftness slid the engagement and wedding rings from a slender finger and placed them in a special velvet-lined box. Instead of diamond hoops or dangles suitable for said clubbing, simple gold studs soon graced both ears. A safer choice; she’d lost far too many of the others. Things had a tendency to get wild.

With a chuckle, she scanned lower and ran a fingertip over a bare mound. Perfect, no stubble; Gil hated that. A few strategic spritzes of perfume landed chilly mist on the paleness, then between her boobs and under a narrow chin. An inhale of the delicate scent made her grin. For being such a good girl, she’d been gifted the expensive Parisian fragrance by a very grateful hubby.

Her focus flicked to the time. Thirty minutes remaining. Gil was also very punctual and expected her to be as well. After a quick check of the bright crimson gloss on rose-shaped lips, she left the ... head and sashayed toward the massive bed.

Anticipation, fear, and desire all conspired to rouse a torrent of tremors. Expected, yet pleasant, dampness cooled between her legs. After another long damn day of boring office work, she was again coming alive.

A good-sized, tall box of black felt had been placed on the thick comforter by Gil. Her grin widened as she undid a large bow and opened the lid. What might he want her to be this time? The horny, wide-eyed, energetic cheerleader she adored? That outfit damn near got her arrested every time. Oh, perhaps the sultry witch? Lots of frills and teasing gaps; so much fun to wear! She chewed her lips. Maybe the cute, playful pixie? The microscopic bands of Venetian lace taut across her curves always left little to the imagination.

A chuckle escaped when the first piece of the costume rose into sight, and she muttered, “Oh, a new one. How delightful.”

The cutest cat ears, covered with glossy sable fur to match the wig, adorned a molded half-mask. From the pink nose sprouted short whiskers. A fingernail of crimson with tiny jewels teased at one of the bristles.

“Hmm, so very stiff.” Another quiet laugh left her.

After settling the cool hardness over her face and tightening a slender strap behind her head, she looked upward to check herself in the mirrored ceiling. Blue eyes twinkled back at her smile as she adjusted the fit. Given what might happen, snugness would be needed.

Her pulse quickened as the next pieces left the box in trembling hands. Under matching black fur but of solid leather, cuffs soon adorned wrists and ankles. On each band, the cutest little golden bells jingled as she moved.

Rapid shallow puffs escaped the glossy lips at the sight of a clear plastic package. The sleek, pink device inside made the tremors race quicker. One of her favorite accessories, but the large jewel had been removed from the butt plug. In its place sprouted a long tail of fluffy sable. The softness unfurled across her palm, and after rubbing it along a suddenly very warm cheek, she took a shiny tube from the bag.

After leaning forward over the bed, the shaking beauty huffed while using a little dollop of the chilly lubricant. Its coolness became heat, and the air caught in her throat when slick, oblong plastic “flooped” into place, making her tremble even more.

A slow exhale let her straighten while inspecting the effect in the reflective ceiling. The tail dangled between tanned butt cheeks kept firm by millions of sweat-dripping hours on treadmills and stair machines. As always, the fullness took some getting used to, but a careful swirl of her hips while smiling up at the mirror did wonders.

Not the least because she looked...

“Downright adorable. Meow.”

With the tail’s supple fur swishing along the back of her thighs, she pulled out a pair of black “fuck me” pumps. Once they graced her feet, she pivoted on her toes and glanced upward at her reflection. Hands roamed both flanks, leaving sizzles in their trail.

Already buzzing, both nipples could cut glass. The tiny bells made the cutest sound as she cradled both full breasts. Like her pelvis, they bore no tan lines; another of Gil’s preferences.

“‘Cause I’m also sexy as fuck,” she added, imitating his baritone, before breaking into giggles.

After returning to the box, her hands delved deeper. At the bottom, a familiar shape, wrapped in the softest red velvet, made her breathing stagger. Air refused to move as trembling fingers unwrapped the carefully prepared package.

The collar. All hers. The most special gift. Glossy black and still rigid, but beveled edges and fine wrinkles marked years of wear. As did the faint marks on the solid metal rings clinking against its front and rear.

Amid the most luxurious warmth, spreading deep inside, she widened her smile. As the cool leather rose into the light, the sparkles of its tiny jewels flashed.

With chest heaving as it always did, she snapped the tautness into place and pulled out her phone. A click resounded, announcing the picture he’d expect to receive. While the comforting coolness around her neck sent tingles along every nerve, fingernails tapped, sending him the latest proof of her love, unlimited devotion, and boundless desire.

The silence deepened when the final item rose from the box in both quivering hands. A length of thin rawhide. Its solid clip twinkled, and the golden thread woven into the windings glimmered as she moved with the utmost care and respect, keeping the leash coiled. Serenaded by the jingling bells at each joint and the clink of the rings against the glossy blackness snug to her neck, she left the room and ascended a narrow set of stairs.

At the top, another reminder of the vessel’s grandeur. More teak, surrounding smoked windows, lined the expansive main salon. Across a similar plush carpet of darker green, spread sumptuous leather seating, long couches and high-backed armchairs. Plenty of metal-rimmed glass tables. A full bar of shiny chrome and varnished dark wood.

As ribs grew ever tighter, she marched to the center of the room and sank to both knees. The thunder in her skull became intense as her head bowed and thighs eased apart. A quiet slurp marked a pussy readying for fun times.

“Hmm, pussy?” A giggle escaped as she glanced at the tail curled alongside one leg.

Yet the sound died, and the air grew ... expectant. With great reverence, as if in Gil’s towering shadow, she placed the coiled rawhide on the thick pile before her and settled both palms flat atop each thigh. The final step: the toes of her shoes scraped as they dug into the ocean-tinted plushness.

“Alright, babe. Don’t make me wait too long,” she whispered, already releasing the world and sliding into the “trance.”

Well, that’s what she called the familiar, warm, snuggling zone of utter calmness. Heartbeat slowing, breath slackening, the throbs of pebble-hard nipples losing their sharpness. Nails loosened their grip on her thighs. As her jaw relaxed, the heat between her legs faded. Deeper, the fluttering eased, becoming a gentle, patient pulse.

From the depths of the massive vessel, a steady thrum became her companion. Overhead vents sent coolness around her, drifting like supple clouds, raising ripples of goosebumps and chilling the damp between her thighs. Under her knees, the carpet’s softness deepened.

Everything faded; only the slow thump of her heart and the swish of air through parted teeth remained. Mind? It existed yet reclined as if enjoying the comfiest of chaise loungers, basking beneath the sun’s heated rays. The shadows of tall palm trees swept across an ethereal beach.

A million years later, muffled by the deepest of seas, voices and quiet thumps pulled on her. Like the gentlest caresses, each noise eased the kneeling woman back to the world of supple carpet, constant thrumming, and approaching laughter. Her lashes blinked open, and nostrils flared, inhaling the chilly air.

Behind her, a whoosh and a louder thunk of the exterior door, no, hatch, opening and shutting were followed by sharper voices. Another blink brought the room into focus. More laughing arrived, then the slap of a hand on clothing.

“Pretty nice boat, Gil.”

The nasal voice made her mind race to picture the man. Details from the dossier sent by hubby tumbled into some semblance of order. Harvey Erdenstein. Upper-sixties. No, fifty-eight, just looked older in the photos. Not tall, nor short. Slouched shoulders. Bit of a paunch. Oodles of money from a vast array of investments. Always looking to impress.

“Not mine, but thanks.”

Gil’s familiar deep tone brought the hint of a grin to her lips.

“Wow! Who’s she?”

“What’ll you have to drink?”

“Uh, whiskey’s fine.”

Soft footfalls on the carpet approached. Her husband’s gray-pinstripes and shiny black shoes appeared. The elegant, spiced cologne she’d given him for his birthday tickled her nostrils. No, she wouldn’t dare raise her head, but the grin widened when his steps slowed.

Though only a short pause, her pulse climbed a little higher. If they’d been alone, he’d have praised her for being such a “good girl.”

Another business suit, a darker shade of charcoal, moved past as the clinking of glasses came from the small bar. Harvey’s cologne was pleasant enough, not too overpowering. A thread dangled from a pant leg above shoes that were ... brown? Interesting fashion choice.

The man’s footsteps were more of a shuffle. A few minutes later, he spoke. “Thanks.” The sound of a sip and a quiet swallow followed. “So?”

“Oh, her?” After a louder drink, Gil’s soft laughter pumped heat through her body. “Heard you like cats.”

“Uh, yeah.” A slurp. A quick cough. “But, um, she’s kinda young. Who—”

“Have a seat.”

“Ah, sure. Okay.” As both sets of trousers strode past, the darker ones slowed. “Why is she—”

“Just a toy, Harv. Consider her a sweetener.”

More of hubby’s laughs sent tingles along her spine. A pair of sighs and the creaking of leather were followed by quiet sipping.

“She expensive?”

“Why? Wanna rent her, too?” Gil’s chortling made her shiver in the nicest way. If the guy were to pay enough...

“She’s married. Took off her rings.”

“So what?”

“Um, what’s her name?”

“Hmm, let’s see. Bet a hottie like this can perform some amazing tricks, don’t you think?”

“Uh, y-yes.”

“Let’s call her Trixie.”

At the name, her heart thumped, and she risked a slow twist of her head. While the other man occupied a couch, Gil sat in a chair across from him, and above a crystal tumbler, the twinkle of his silver-gray pools was waiting. She sucked hard on her lips; such a glance wasn’t permitted, but...

“Meow,” she murmured.

Oh, how hubby’s eyes bloomed, but a gasp brought her focus to the other man. Such pretty brown irises, and they gained white rims. Well, this promised to be all kinds of fun. Pulse racing a little quicker, she lowered her head once more.

“So, Harv. Let’s talk numbers...”

No, not for Ryenne’s purchase or rental. Instead, the real negotiations began in earnest. Ice clinked in glasses as Gil shifted into broker mode, purveyor of all things upscale, providing details of the yacht and answering Harv’s questions. For her part, the trance teased her back into its comforting snuggle. However, as both voices continued to drone, the focus of a well-trained, experienced ear remained on the deeper one.

As soon as the tone changed, alertness surged, tugging her from the supple world of warm beaches and gentle surf. When shiny black shoes walked nearer, muscles tensed. Hubby’s hand appeared, then a sleeve as he reached for the leash. The coiled rawhide rose, sending goosebumps to chase heat across her skin. As the thick fingers capable of imparting such lust-fueled insanity moved the clip closer, she raised her chin ... not too far. Don’t look at him ... toy. The snick of it closing drove a spear of flame through the very center of her being.

Harv began to ask, “What are you—”

“Cats are social creatures,” Gil explained, pulling on the slim rawhide. “Poor thing, she’s lonely.”

The gentle tug on the collar had her sliding forward onto both palms. From the seated man, a quiet inhale. His eyes grew wider as hubby led her crawling across the carpet toward him. She swallowed a chuckle. The actual “poor thing,” Harv wasn’t sure where to look: the swinging boobs, her grin, or the slender lead dangling between the collar and hubby’s fist.

“Here.”

The coil of gold-wrapped leather landed in the man’s shaking palm. In his other, a tumbler quivered until Gil took it from him.

“I’ll get us some refills.”