Nia’s Birthday Part One: The Princess and Her Pets

POV: Nia

Nia woke late to warmth and motion.

She did not open her eyes at first. There was a soft weight at her side and a bright little breath at her ear, the kind of panting that sounded like happiness translated into sound. Something silk‑smooth brushed her cheek. The bedclothes were a tangle of ribbon, velvet, and sleep‑warm linen; the light beyond her eyelids was the color of ripe peaches.

A tiny yip made her laugh before she was fully awake.

When she rolled onto her back and blinked at the ceiling, the shapes beside her sorted into meaning: two girls on all fours, twin silhouettes, their hair tied with bows that matched their satin collars. Matching bell charms chimed when they shifted. They watched her the way well‑trained puppies watched a hand—alert, eager, delighted simply to be looked at.

One had a small envelope secured to her collar with a red silk ribbon.

Nia pushed herself up on her elbows. The twins inched closer on their knees, hands hidden in plush paw‑mitts that made their fingers into rounded pads. The room smelled faintly of orange blossom and the talc the housemaids favored. On the nightstand, someone had arranged three small pastries beneath a glass cloche; the note card read for the Princess—before breakfast.

Nia untied the envelope and read aloud, still smiling before she reached the signature:

Happy Birthday, little sister.

Meet the new family pups: Sugarpup and Honeytail.

Have fun.

—You´re favourite Sister

The puppies—Sugarpup, Honeytail—gave a synchronized yip as if they’d understood their names arriving in the air. They nuzzled closer, pressing their foreheads to Nia’s shoulder, making contented little sounds that belonged to a world without doubt. Nia laughed again, half tickled, half flattered by the uncomplicated adoration, and kissed each brow in turn like she’d seen people do with prize animals in old films.

“Okay,” Nia whispered, tapping the ribboned collars with a fingernail, “which one of you is which? Two yips for Sugarpup… head‑tilt for Honeytail.”

The puppy on Nia’s left yipped twice on cue; the other cocked her head so earnestly Nia snorted.

“Perfect. Sugarpup and Honeytail,” she repeated, pleased by how the names felt in her mouth. She booped both noses with the pad of her finger. “Birthday rule number one: kisses are allowed.”

They answered with happy little laps along her knuckles and the inside of her wrists, quick warm strokes that made the bell charms chime in tiny, polite notes. Nia squeaked, then laughed. “Hey—that tickles… yes, yes, I know. Good girls. Gentle.”

She stroked them behind the ears, slow and certain, the way you pet something that has decided to belong to you. The leather of the collars had already warmed to skin; the ribbons slid cool under her palm. This is what I like best, she thought. No puzzles. No speeches. Just yes.

“Let’s see what you know,” she murmured, switching to the sing‑song she used with pets. “Sit.” They sat, tails making small metronomes against the sheet. “Down.” They folded neatly. “Spin.” Two quick twirls, bells chiming. “Pretty.” They rose on their knees, paws tucked to their chests, eyes bright with the thrill of getting it right.

Nia clapped softly. “Geniuses. Both of you.” She broke the tiniest piece from a pastry beneath the cloche and offered it—“Small bites”—watching them take it with careful lips. “That’s right. No gobbling. We have manners.”

They edged closer again, and she let them “wash” her fingers, the soft rasp a warm, silly comfort. “Birthday rule number two,” she told them, “if I say ‘hands,’ you can do that. If I say ‘face,’ you kiss me but you may not ruin my makeup.” She tapped her cheek, then relented and leaned in for two quick kisses anyway, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist and giggling. “Fine. Exceptions for excellent puppies.” She wiggled her fingers and sat up. “Actually—no waiting,” she whispered with a grin. “I want to see what you’ve learned. Right now.” She slid to the edge of the bed and pointed to the rug. “Down. On your backs.” The puppies scrambled eagerly into position, their bells jingling in messy rhythm. Nia made a slow circuit around them, eyes scanning every inch, admiring the way their breath hitched under her gaze. She crouched between them and whispered, “Good. Let’s begin.”

She stepped forward, unhurried. Her hand closed around Sugarpup’s breast, fingers squeezing just hard enough to remind her who it belonged to. Her thumb rolled over the nipple — slow, deliberate. Sugarpup whimpered, her thighs pressing together involuntarily.

"Already squirming?" Nia murmured. "Pathetic. I’ve barely touched you."

Without warning, her other hand shot out, grabbing Honeytail by the jaw, forcing her head back. "Look at me when your Mistress plays with your sister," she ordered.

Honeytail gasped, her lips parting, her breath shallow.

"Good girl," Nia smirked.

She released her and trailed her fingers down Honeytail’s chest, teasing a nipple, then pinching it sharply. The girl jolted, breath catching. Nia watched the reaction with cool satisfaction.

The room was thick with the scent of wet, wanting cunt — a feral perfume laced with orange blossom. Nia inhaled deeply, her own arousal pulsing through her like fire. But she was in charge. Her pleasure came last — or whenever she decided.

"On your backs. Legs open. Show me what’s mine."

They obeyed instantly, like trained pets. Nia stood above them, eyes locked on their glistening, swollen pussies — slick, needy, already aching to be used.

"Look at you," she sneered. "Two perfect little fuckpupies, dripping before I’ve even given permission. Did I say you could enjoy this?"

Sugarpup whimpered and shook her head.

Nia crouched beside her, dragging her fingers slowly through the wetness between her legs. “You’re right. You don’t get to feel good until I make you.”

She rubbed slow, torturous circles around Sugarpup’s clit — just enough to make her gasp, but not enough to satisfy. Her other hand clamped down on Sugarpup’s thigh to keep her still.

“Don’t move,” Nia warned. “You’ll take what I give you. Nothing more.”

Sugarpup nodded frantically, hips trembling.

Meanwhile, Honeytail lay motionless, her eyes wide, chest heaving — her desire written across every inch of her skin.

Nia turned her head slowly. "Patience, pet," she said. "You’ll be useful soon."

Then her mouth was on Sugarpup, her tongue ruthless, her fingers pressing inside with no warning, no mercy. She pumped deep, curling just so, watching Sugarpup come apart with a single command:

“Come. Now.”

Sugarpup’s scream tore through the room as her body convulsed, her pussy clenching helplessly around Nia’s fingers.

But Nia was already moving.

She climbed over Honeytail’s face, grabbing a fistful of her curls. “Eat,” she ordered, grinding down.

Honeytail obeyed like she’d been waiting her whole life. Her tongue flicked fast, ****, buried in Nia’s heat.

Nia moaned, hips rolling, one hand gripping the headboard, the other sliding down to Honeytail’s dripping cunt.

“Open wider,” she snapped. “You’ll take my fingers while you serve. You’re going to come with your tongue inside me.”

She thrust two fingers in hard. Honeytail cried out — muffled by Nia’s cunt — but she didn’t stop licking.

Nia rode her face mercilessly, using her mouth like a throne. Her orgasm was a growl deep in her throat, her whole body shuddering as she collapsed forward, panting.

But she wasn’t done.

She sat back, straddling Honeytail’s chest, and slapped her pussy lightly. “You didn’t come loud enough. Again.”

She thrust deeper, harder, faster — until Honeytail came in broken, **** sobs beneath her. Her legs kicked once, then gave out.

Finally, Nia slid off. Her skin was slick with sweat, her inner thighs soaked in a mix of their juices.

She looked down at them — her perfect pets — curled against her like used toys waiting for their next command.

"You belong to me," she said softly, but with absolute certainty. "Every inch of you. Every sound. Every orgasm. Every thought."

Both twins nodded weakly, dazed, glowing.

Nia smiled. "Good Pets."

From downstairs came a voice, warm and practiced, amplified by the shape of the staircase: “Princess? Birthday breakfast is ready!” The vowels carried the smile.

Nia pressed her forehead to the twins’ crowns, promised more play later in the language of pats and smiles, and slid out of bed. The puppies followed to the edge of the mattress still dripping and watched her pad across the rug to the wardrobe, tails—making little arcs in the air with each breath.

She chose white for morning: a short dress with a square neckline and puffy sleeves that made her look like a sketch of a cake topper. The housemaid pin‑tucked the back and fastened three tiny pearl buttons. Nia set a fingertip to each to be sure; she liked when clothes closed with a sequence. She tucked the note from Lexi into the mirror frame where she could see it as she left the room.

The twins followed her on all fours, collars gleaming, bells barely chiming as they padded at her heels and down the stairs. The door clicked softly behind them.