Leash Me (Your Pet For The Night) by Audrey Grace

Leash Me (Your Pet For The Night)

    W e meet in downtown Melbourne, two invisible people lost in the bobbing throng on a Friday night. We get a hotel room, the fancy one on Swanston. It has a nice cocktail bar, and we promise ourselves we’ll go to that later.
    Though whether we will or not, we cannot say at this moment. It’s just a gesture, a promise of something more, should the night begin to ebb a little too early for our liking.
    We’re dressed for one another, and that’s just the way I like it. Our meeting has no hidden meaning. It’s clear and obvious and plain to anyone who looks or sees or watches us.
    I wear a black lace top and a long, dark velvet skirt. My lips are red and my eyes are dark.
    You are in a black shirt, black trousers, black shoes, but your tie is green and striking. It reminds me of a snake in the sand, though I couldn’t really tell you why.
    Casually you attach the collar, fix it around my neck. I crane a little to make it easier. And then you attach the leash to my collar, and we walk out into the night, amidst the crowded streets surging with people, with equal nonchalance.
    You have not told me where we’re going, so I’m content to follow you. But more than that, it’s pretty clear that I must follow you. You have me in your grip; I’m tethered to your hand; to your command.
    You light a cigarette. It’s one of the slim and feminine ones, flavored like vanilla. You smoke it as we walk, but occasionally you hold it in front of my lips, and I take a drag from the tiny thing and take the smoke inside me.
    I can’t help but notice how erotic it is to share a cigarette with you. The way you hold it in front of me, just slightly too far, so I have to lean forward or walk quicker. The way you watch as I inhale the smoke and let it out through my nostrils as I’ve become accustomed.
    I can’t help but notice the way you smoke, the way the puff of wispy gray attempts to escape your lips, peeking out for just a moment before its sucked back in. It reminds me of a riptide in the ocean.
    Like the smoke I cannot escape your lips, your grip.
    You bring me close and kiss me lightly on my head, but I hear you smell my hair.
    “We’re here,” you say, and grin at me, and I realize we’re at a strip club. It’s called The Smell of Grass, which to me is a strange name, but I’ve never been to a strip club before, so perhaps I do not know.
    It doesn’t look too sleazy, but it’s not a high-end place, either. It lies somewhere in between, and why I like that about you I do not know, but I just do.
    It’s my first time to a strip club, and I feel excitement welling within me. What will it be like? Will the girls be naked? And do people really put money in the elastic band of their thongs?
    I’m excited, in a naive way, but also excited to be with you, to see you in a place you like, a place that excites you too.
    We’re at the door and the bouncer or guard or whatever he is looks at us and grins. He nods at me, and you nod back to him and detach the leash. In the moment that our tether is broken, I feel a strange and horrifying emptiness, but you take my hand, and our connection is reformed, and that cold and icy feeling melts away.
    The bouncer smiles at me and winks, so I just smile and look away. I can see that you don’t really like it, but you joke with him in a good natured way, and just like that the ripples of tension are smoothed, and an understanding is formed.
    I’m impressed by you. The bouncer does not look at me again.
    I watch as you fold the leash, end on end, and put it in your pocket. You’re careful with the leather strap, and you finger the silver buckle briefly.
    We walk into the club, and darkness swallows us fully.
    We find a table that’s by a sofa, and sit together for a while. You place your hand onto my thigh, and it feels as if I have been touched in other places. Just that small touch, it drives me crazy, and I cannot stop thinking about it.
    I purr in your