The Inheritance

Siouxsie Q sat across from Brianna in her office, flipping through papers while she told her that her mother had died. Brianna shrugged. They'd stopped talking months before the end. The lawyer moved on, reading the will out loud. No cash. Brianna got a monthly stipend if she kept her mother's pet cared for. Brianna balked, but she needed the money, so she took the envelope with the key. The lawyer said the old woman left instructions—Tabby needed very specific handling. Later she drove to the house, her keys jangling. The door opened and a tall redhead stood there, naked except for heels and a thin silver collar. Brianna asked for Tabby. The woman smiled and said she was Tabby. They moved to the living room couch. Tabby explained the arrangement: after the widow was left alone she craved someone who would need her touch, who would be hers completely. Now Brianna had to take that place. Brianna laughed once, nervous, then asked about the key. Tabby lifted the thin chain around her waist and pointed between her legs. A heavy chrome chastity belt glinted. She told Brianna the lock belonged to her now. The room felt smaller. Brianna's palms sweated. She was straight, she said, but Tabby just waited, calm, watching. The idea of owning that body tugged harder than the word straight. Brianna turned the key. Steel clicked and parted. Underneath, shaved skin glistened, already slick. Tabby spread wider on the cushion. Brianna slid two fingers along the smooth lips, felt heat pulse, tasted the salt off her own hand. By the time Tabby moaned and grabbed fistfuls of the couch, Brianna's mouth was buried between her thighs and the straight-girl excuse was gone.