Sex stories

Sex stories




Kitten and the Wolf

Here's a romantic rough-love fantasy about a woman in a position of authority - a lioness - who is harboring a kitten within. A few days before Thanksgiving, her inner kitten is finally going to get the attention it deserves. Background note: Most American universities employ an "up or out" promotion system: after five years on the job, a young professor is either granted tenure (a lifetime appointment) or fired. Tags: Kitten, Oral sex, Straight sex, Anal sex, Bondage, Whipping.

*****

1. Prologue: Breaking Bad News

"So the Promotion and Tenure Committee will say no," he said. "and I'll have a year to find another job."

"That's what will probably happen," I said.

"Despite the fact that the Chemistry Department voted to grant me tenure."

"It was a weak vote," I said, holding his gaze, "a bare majority. Tenure is a lifetime commitment for the university, and that makes the committee cautious - they like a two thirds vote or better."

"They've been known to give tenure to other candidates with weak votes," he said. Though his words were challenging, his tone was conversational.

I said, "If a department chair can make a plausible case that some votes were motivated by prejudice, rancor, or anything but the candidate's merits, we can sometimes get a weak vote through the committee. That's not the case with you. You don't have enemies, and your work hasn't stirred up controversy. You don't belong to a disadvantaged group. You're a man in a male-dominated discipline."

Nothing could have been more obvious than that Rob was a man. He was lean and fit, with dark brown hair and a fashionably close-cropped beard, impeccably dressed, as usual, in a light-gray suit with a silver tie. I had sometimes wondered how much of his salary went for clothing. Right now his manner was disconcerting. Usually, when I break bad news to a candidate for tenure, I see tears, or anger, or numb hopelessness, but Rob was the same as ever - relaxed, self-assured, smiling warmly, as if we were talking pleasantly about mutual friends, not the likely end of his career as a professor.

Still I followed my script. "I'm very sorry," I said. "I know this must come as a shock to you."

His smile became wider. "Oh, no," he said. "It's no surprise. I know my own strengths and weaknesses - and when you told me where we were meeting for dinner, I was sure. Maybe you don't know what the junior faculty say about you: the fancier the dinner, the worse the news - and this is a five-star restaurant."

I noticed now that he'd been eating heartily. I was the one who was picking at my dinner.

He continued, "Frankly, I'm a little relieved. The life of a research scholar isn't much to my taste - I had no idea I'd have to spend so much of my time writing grant applications. I've enjoyed the teaching, though. Lecturing to three hundred students at a time, guiding them, instructing them. I seem to have a talent for getting people to do what I want them to, and it gives me a sinful amount of pleasure."

The warmth of his smile went up another few degrees, and my stomach gave a little lurch.

"Your teaching is beyond excellent," I said, recovering, I thought, rather gracefully. "And I'll add, as one of a handful of women in the Chemistry Department, that I appreciate the way you create an atmosphere that's welcoming for your women students."

His smile got wider and his eyes sparkled. "I like women," he said. "My dream job would be teaching at Smith or Wellesley. But I think I'll look for something in business. I can easily find that kind of job here, and I'd rather not move to another city."

"I'm going to miss you," I said. I really meant it, too, though I didn't think he'd guess the reason. The man was a joy to look at.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll miss you too - and I don't think I can say that about any of my other colleagues."

I blushed a little, thinking I should slow down with the wine and banish foolish notions from my head - he had to be ten years younger than me.

"Listen," he said. "It's Tuesday night, and Thanksgiving break starts tomorrow. No one expects either of us to show up at the department till Monday. Why don't you come for a drink with me? My favorite place is right around the corner. I promise not to get drunk and maudlin. The news you've given me is . . . well, liberating, and I'm in the mood to celebrate."

He dialed up that smile a little more. I knew this was a dumb idea - I'd just fired this man - or at least I'd told him I wouldn't lift a finger to save his career. But I'd been tense all afternoon, knowing what I had to tell him, and I could really use one more glass of wine. And he'd been so damned nice about this - he'd made it almost easy. And he wasn't inviting me home to murder me; we were going to a bar or another restaurant, where there'd be plenty of people around. What could go wrong?

"Thanks," I said. "I'd love to."

I had hardly eaten - I didn't have much of an appetite - and he was finished. We decided against dessert and coffee. He glanced in the direction of the waitress, who hurried over: had she been watching him? "Would you bring the check, please?" he asked. The smile she gave him suggested that she would do much more than that for him if he'd only ask. He didn't, however, and within a few minutes she was back with a tray.

"Hand it over, Rob," I said with a frown. "It's on the department's tab."

He pushed the tray over to me with a sheepish look, and I laid my credit card on top of it.

2. Aspiring Kitty

Within a few minutes we were on the sidewalk. The place he had in mind really was right around the corner, but it didn't look like a bar or restaurant. All I could see from the street was a polished oak door with a brass knob, set into a carved stone entryway at the top of three marble steps. I looked for a sign identifying the place, but I didn't see one.

"It's a club," Rob said, and pulled a brass knob, ringing a bell. A distinguished older man, dressed in a tailcoat, white bow tie, and white gloves, opened the door, smiled warmly, and said, "Good evening, Professor Faulkner." He moved back to let us in.

"Good evening, Boswell," said Rob, took my arm, and led me inside. He turned to the man and said, "This is Professor Redd, R-E-D-D. She's my guest tonight."

"Very good, sir. I'll make a note."

Rob led me along a hallway lined on either side with paintings of men and women in dress of various periods from the eighteenth century to the present. Most of the people were wearing masks like what you'd wear at a costume ball. Some were holding exotic weapons - maces, halberds, axes. I didn't recognize any of them. We passed several oak doors, smaller versions of the one that opened onto the street, before coming to an open door that led into a large room furnished with comfortable chairs and tables, and a bar at the far end. Rob showed me to a table for two near the left wall. He held a chair for me, and I sat.

"What'll you have?" he asked.

"A Pinot Grigio would be nice," I said.

He went to the bar, and I looked around the room. There were few people here. A couple was sitting at a table across the room, the man portly and dressed in a conservative gray suit, the woman, young and pretty save for a livid scar on one cheek, in high heels and a skimpy black dress with mesh sides - she was talking to the man earnestly, but he seemed to be paying little attention. Two men were chatting at the bar.

The room was richly decorated. The bar was polished mahogany with a shiny brass rail, the walls paneled in oak. On a large rack mounted high on one wall was a collection of whips - a bullwhip, a cat o' nine tails, several riding crops in different sizes, and others I couldn't name. Another rack held a selection of restraints - manacles, cuffs, balls and chains. Lengths of chain were hung on hooks. Along one wall was a large X-shaped cross with cuffs dangling from steel eyes at the upper ends. The artwork here was more disturbing than in the hallway: there were pictures - some paintings, some prints, some photographs - of naked men and women bound in various ways. Some were suspended in ropes, some fettered to walls, some in stocks, some chained in uncomfortable poses.

Rob returned before I'd finished surveying the room. The warmth of his smile did little to allay the uneasiness I now felt.

"This is a disturbing place," I said. "It feels like some celebration of medieval torture - a monument to pain and the destruction of the body." I wondered what kind of man liked to come to a place like this and calmed myself a little with the thought that I was only here for a drink with him.

He said, "Look around this room with a slightly different perspective, and you'll see that it's not about the destruction of the body, but about its glorification, and not about torture, but control."

"But why?" I asked. "Why would anyone want to be chained, bound to a cross, and controlled by somebody else?" I pictured myself cuffed to that cross or chained to the wall, and I was disturbed to feel something stirring inside me - a hint of arousal. I tried to make the disgust I was sure I felt chase it away, but it wouldn't be banished. It occurred to me that I probably shouldn't take another sip of this wine, though it was light and fruity and danced on the palate.

"For pleasure," he said. "For the joy of yielding control of yourself to another person, the bliss of doing what you're told, the ecstasy of entrusting yourself to another's care."

"Or," I said, "the joy of controlling and commanding."

"Yes," he said, "some find pleasure in that, and in controlling oneself and accepting responsibility for another."

A photograph of a woman about my own age caught my eye. She was kneeling in front of a man and wearing nothing but a steel collar attached by a chain to a brick wall; her hands were cuffed behind her. On her face was an expression of adoration and fear.

I had to admit Rob had a point. I was forty-three years old, and I'd given my life to the lab and the university. Like Rob, I seemed to have a talent for getting people to do what I wanted them to do. I'd been in leadership roles as long as I could remember: Student Council president in high school, head of various college and grad school organizations, chair of learned societies, a stint as a dean, and now chair of my department. I had a reputation as a tough lady - even if I did prefer to deliver bad news in five-star restaurants.

But my love life had been a zero. My few lovers had expected and desired the iron lady, the person I was at work. But I didn't want to run my personal relationships the way I ran my lab, my classrooms, or my department. Wasn't I entitled to one area of my life where I could be a kitten instead of a lioness?

But when I'd tried to play the kitten with my lovers, or merely hinted to them that they should take charge in the bedroom, they had responded, at best, with confusion. The lovemaking had been boring, and after a while they'd either left or I'd kicked them out. Though a staunch feminist, I'd found myself wishing at times that I could find an old-fashioned cave man type - or at least someone willing to play that role in the bedroom. Où sont les sexistes d'antan?

Well, maybe I had one here. He was elegant, too - I'd often caught myself watching him stride, assured and graceful, through the hallways and labs of the Chemistry Building. Once I'd observed his class: as he paced the front of the room, lecturing animatedly, his gait put me in mind of a wolf.

A naked man, pink and rotund, burst into the room and pelted towards the bar. As he passed by our table I saw that he had an erection and his back was crisscrossed with long welts. By the time the man reached the bar, the bartender had a bottle of beer ready for him. He picked it up and ran out, penis wagging in front of him like a misplaced tail.

I felt a little surge of anger. "What's going on here, Rob?"

"People are doing things they enjoy. Controlling and being controlled. The club has private rooms for members to play in - though, of course, it's possible simply to come here for a drink, as we have."

"People aren't just being controlled," I said. "That man's been whipped."

"If he was whipped, it's because he wanted to be. This club's most strictly enforced rule is that everything that goes on here must be consensual."

The man in the suit got up and moved towards the door, and the woman in the black dress followed him. She held her head up as she walked, but her eyes were downcast. She was a kitten - I knew it. I felt a stab of envy.

"What do you think they're going to do?" I asked, nodding at the couple as they passed through the door.

"They'll go to one of the private rooms and play," said Rob. "She's a submissive and he's a dominant. He'll control her, and she'll obey him, as long as he respects her limits."

"Will he whip her, do you think?" Something in me hoped he would.

"If that's what they both want."

"Have sex?" I wanted them to have sex, too. He should take her from behind like a tomcat, biting the nape of her neck.

"That often happens, but it doesn't have to."

"Why have you brought me here, Rob?"

"For a drink," he said, "though I confess that I find you beautiful and compelling."

"And ten years older than you," I said.

"Eight," he said, correcting me. "I've done my research, you see."

"And what made you think I might like a place like this?"

"A guess," he said. "Maybe intuition."

As he talked, a couple entered the bar, both middle aged and dressed in black leather. The man was wearing a collar with a leash attached; the woman was holding the leash. He walked one pace behind her, observing her carefully as she led him.

Rob continued, "I decided in any case that I'd trust you with this secret of mine. You handed a good bit of power over to me, back in that restaurant, and now I'm handing it back to you."

"How did I hand over power?" I asked, incredulous.

"When a supervisor tells a man he's out of a job, she gives up her power over him. I may teach for another year, but your authority over me will be purely notional."

It was true. I'd written his last performance evaluation and recommended his last raise. If he decided not to show up for half his classes, there wasn't a thing I could do about it. But I said, "If we were to go to one of those rooms, wouldn't I be returning that power to you?"

"Sort of," he said. "You would obey me for as long as it pleased you to obey. These people are playing. They exchange power, but it's play power, like Monopoly money. A submissive always retains the ability to stop the play. On the other hand, I've revealed to you that I'm a rather kinky character. Some people would despise me if they knew these proclivities of mine." He waved towards the objects and pictures on the wall. "The power that gives you over me is real - you could spread rumors about me and do real damage."

"How often do you bring women here?" I asked.

"Not very. They have play parties here once a month, and sometimes I manage to meet someone. Sex isn't allowed at play parties. I've had a couple of kinky girlfriends, but I'm not a Don Juan."

"Do you always give fake names for the women you bring?"

"Only when I bring department chairs," he said, smiling.

"Have you ever brought a student here?" I asked accusingly.

He smiled. "I was tempted a couple of times in my first year of teaching, but I never did. Undergraduates are pretty, but I don't find them especially sexy."

"You like older women," I said, a question phrased as a statement.

"Women who know what they're doing," he said. "Women mature enough to understand themselves."

Strange how the conversation had moved from the abstract to the hypothetical, and now very near the concrete, and yet he didn't seem to be steering it. Down below, I was feeling tingly and a little wet.

He was relaxed in his chair, legs crossed, one hand in his lap while with the other he toyed idly with his nearly untouched scotch.

I leaned forward and took a sip of my wine. "I'm still your supervisor," I said, "even if that doesn't mean much in an academic department - even if I've given up any real authority over you. I'm not allowed to have sex with you."

"What if I'm the one making the approach?" he said. "If I proposition you, are you allowed to accept?"

"Not really," I said, though I was thinking to myself that no one would know.

"I resign," he said. "Effective immediately."

I said, "You can't do that. You've got to finish out the term."

"You'll have to hire me as an adjunct on Monday," he said, smiling. "And now that we've settled the workplace issue, I'll say what's on my mind. Only once - I'm not going to badger you. I want you to go with me to a private room here and submit to me. I want to rule you, and I want to make love to you. Will you go with me?"

"Are you going to fuck me," I asked, "like Christian Grey?"

"I want to make love to you the way you want to be made love to," he said. "If I'm right in my guess about you, we'll both get tremendous pleasure out of it."

"No bondage," I said, gesturing at the manacles on the wall. "After what I've done to you tonight, I'd be insane to allow you to make me helpless."

"No bondage," he smiled. "Anything else?"

I glanced at the whips hanging on the wall. "Do you use whips?" I asked.

"Sometimes."

"Do you hit hard?"

"If we were to play that way, you'd get to say how hard and when to stop."

"What else should I be worried about?"

"Probably not much. I don't do edgeplay - cutting, scat, things that risk real damage, either physical or psychological. But when I'm demanding that you obey me, some of the fun, for both you and me, is in pushing a bit - getting you to do things you haven't done before, or withholding or delaying things you like. If I push too hard, you can say 'Red' and I'll stop everything. If you want to slow things down, change directions, or pause to talk about what's going on, say 'Yellow' and I'll check in with you."

"Why shouldn't I just say 'Stop' or 'Slow down' or 'Wait a minute'?"

"A lot of people find it a turn-on to say 'Stop' and not mean it. Begging for mercy and not getting any can be incredibly hot. This is a game for people who like their play intense, and with at least an illusion of danger. But if you're more comfortable letting words have their normal meaning, that's fine with me. In that case we won't need safewords - 'Red' and 'Yellow.'"

"Let's let words have their normal meanings for now," I said. "'Stop' means stop." Only after I'd said this did it occur to me that my language - my omission of subjunctives - was committing me to this evening of insanity. I took a deep breath and looked at him. He'd understood me too, and his lips were curled into a gorgeous wolfish smile. I wanted him to take me in his arms and kiss me, though I guessed that he had a lot more in mind than kissing, or even sex.

"Okay," he said. "You can pause the action at any moment to ask questions, make adjustments, change course, or call a stop to the whole thing. If you're ready, I just have to get a key from Boswell."

"Is his name really Boswell?"

"I have no idea. We call the day man Johnson, if that's a help."

I laughed and said, "Go ahead and get the key."

He left, and I looked around the room again. The pictures hadn't changed, but they seemed much more erotic now. The middle-aged man on a leash was sitting on the floor beside his mistress's chair, looking for all the world like a dog. She fed him a nut from a bowl on her table and glanced my way. She gave me a tight little smile, as if we shared a secret, and I smiled back at her. The man turned his head to look at me, but she jerked his leash sharply, and he returned his attention to her.
I glanced at the two men at the bar, and it occurred to me that one of them was in all probability a woman. The man had a hand in her crotch; her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply. I studied the whips hanging on the wall and wondered which would hurt most. The bullwhip, I decided, was absolutely out. I had seen that Indiana Jones movie.

Rob came back and said, "Ready."

I got up and followed him out of the bar. He led me farther along the corridor to an oaken door with the number "6" on it. He opened the door with a key and gestured me in.

3. Fluffy Kitty

At first glance the room was like an expensively furnished hotel room. But over the king-size bed, instead of the usual pastoral scene, was a large black and white photograph of a naked woman who appeared to be on tiptoe, bent over nearly double, hands cuffed behind her with gleaming cuffs. Her back and legs were visible, but not her face or bottom, except for the very top of her crack, from which a shiny steel bar seemed to sprout. A ring at the end of the bar was attached to a taut chain extending up out of the frame. Staring at this, I shivered a little, knowing and not quite wanting to know how that steel bar was fastened to the woman's backside.

When I was able to tear my gaze away, I saw that a cross like the one in the barroom was attached to the wall next to the bed. The opposite wall was brick, with three iron rings fixed into it about six feet high and six feet apart, and three more directly under them, near the floor. Farther along on this wall was a rack holding a selection of items - whips (but no bullwhip), what looked like an ostrich feather on a stick, leather cuffs, neat coils of rope hanging from pegs, and, prominent at the top of the rack, some large shears with angled snips. In the ceiling above the open space between the bed and the door was a sturdy steel hook, and there were cleats every few feet along the walls, about four feet above the floor. In one corner of this open space, not far from the bed, was a comfortable leather chair.

Through the door of the bathroom at the far end of the room, I could see an oversize bathtub. I wondered what other goodies were in there.

"What do you think?" he asked. "Not scared yet?"

"Not yet," I said.

"Good," he said. "Why don't you have a seat? We have one or two more things to talk about."

He gestured towards the leather chair, and I sat.

He sat on the edge of the bed facing me and said, "Do you ever imagine yourself as something else, you know, in your fantasies? A little girl, an animal of some kind? A piece of furniture? A movie star?"

This was a hard question - not because I didn't know the answer, but because I'd never told anyone about this fantasy. I must have looked uncomfortable, because he said, "All answers are good, you know. And your secret is completely safe with me."

In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought. I said "A kitten" in a little voice that surprised me by sounding like a meow.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, a triumphant hiss. His eyes gleamed, and he said, "I like kitties. Very much." He got up and went to a closet back near the bathroom. He opened it, and I could see it was all shelves inside, crammed with things I couldn't make out. But there were labels on the shelves, which he studied for a few seconds before saying, "Ah!" He rummaged on a shelf and pulled out a hairband with two cat ears attached. He turned to me and said, "Would you describe yourself as a short-haired or a long-haired breed?"

I was intensely embarrassed, but excited. I decided honesty would be the best policy, since it was already yielding benefits.

"Fluffy," I whispered.

He put that headband back and took out another with fluffy black ears.

"You've got light brown hair," he said, "but these are black. Will they do?"

"I like them a lot," I said, a little breathless. I was getting excited, thinking about wearing those ears.

He rummaged some more and pulled out a fluffy black tail that terminated in a bulbous object like a small metal onion. "Some tails are attached to belts, but they don't seem to have any of that kind. This is an anal plug. I guess we'd better wait and see if the time comes for it." He laid it on a nightstand.

I had a feeling the time would come - I wanted it to come.

He turned back to the closet and fished out a pink and lacy collar. "A pretty thing for a pretty kitty," he said. He came to me and said, "Stand up."

I was wearing a gray suit - very businesslike, with a skirt, white blouse, and jacket, and plain black pumps. He unbuttoned the jacket, slipped it off me, and draped it neatly over the back of the leather chair. Then he put the ears and collar on me. He stood back to admire his work. "I like it," he said, and led me to the bathroom, where he stood me in front of the mirror. He was behind me, hands resting lightly on my shoulders, looking at my reflection.

I looked at him in the mirror, noticing that I came up just to his shoulders. I tilted my head a little, simpered, and said "Meow." It was embarrassing, doing this, but I liked the feeling - both being kittenish and being embarrassed.

He put his arms around me, under my breasts, and said, "I like it very much. Why don't you just make kitty sounds from here on, unless you have a compelling need to speak as a human being."

"Meow," I said, and leaned back into him.

"Your lipstick isn't kittenish," he said.

I meowed my agreement - it was lioness red.

"Clean that off - you'll find some stuff in the cabinet there," he said, gesturing towards a medicine cabinet off to the side.

I found some cold cream in the cabinet and used that and a washcloth to take off my lipstick. By the time I was done he was waiting with a pink lipstick. "You'd better put this on," he said. "Much as I'd like to do it, I'm sure I'd mess it up." He watched while I applied it. I was starting to look a little silly - air-headed, a toy for him. I liked it.

"One more thing to make you the perfect kitten," he said, and turned me towards him. He was holding an eyeliner.

"Look up," he said, "and close your eyes."

I could feel what he was doing: making up my eyes to make them more oval, like a cat's eyes; drawing a little cat's nose on the end of my nose, and finally three whiskers on either cheek.

"Open your eyes and look at me," he said. I opened my eyes and saw that he'd taken a step back for a better look.

He tilted his head one way, then the other. He put a finger under my chin and turned my head this way and that. Finally he said, "Beautiful."

"Meow," I said, trying to remember if any man had ever told me I was beautiful, not quite believing him, but loving it anyway.

He turned me towards the mirror and said, "What do you think?"

My heart fluttered a little as I looked at my reflection - I'd never thought of myself as cute, but that's what I was now - cute and trivial, very silly and, right now, very aroused.

"Meow," I said, and gave him a kittenish smile.

"Every kitten loves to be petted," he said. "Come back into the room."

I wished I knew how to purr. He grabbed a bath mat from the sill of the tub and returned to the room - I followed him. He sat in the leather chair, spread the bath mat by his right foot, and said, "You can curl up here."

I'm not very big, so the bath mat was plenty for me. I kicked off my shoes, curled up there, and felt contented. He reached down and scratched me behind my ear.

"Mew," I said, and this time I skipped feeling silly. I just wanted him to go on with what he was doing.

"There's a good kitty," he said, and petted my hair, then, after a minute or so, my back.

At length he said, "This outfit of yours isn't kittenish."

I said "Mew," sadly, sat up, and reached for the top button of my blouse.

"No," he said, "I'll do it." He unbuttoned my blouse, pulled it out of the waistband of my skirt, and took it off me. I'm small breasted, but I wore a bra because at my age you need all the help you can get in the battle against time and gravity. The bra hooked in the back, and he reached around, unhooked it, and slipped it off.

"Stand," he said. I did, and he unzipped and pulled down my skirt, leaving my panties. "Down," he said, and I sank to my knees in front of him, feeling good about the direction things were taking.

He put a hand on my left nipple, which was already erect. "Mew," I said, rather urgently, loving the boldness of his touch. He tweaked my nipple with his fingers, then moved over to do the same for the other one.

My panties were soaked: I could feel the coolness down there. I wanted to do something for him now, and I reached for his belt, meaning to undo his pants.

But he swatted my nose with his fingertips and said, "Bad kitty! I'll let you know when it's time for that."

A kitten has to defend her dignity: I bared my claws, took a swipe at his hand, and hissed.

"Oh, kitty," he said, "we can't allow that kind of behavior." He put his right hand on my left shoulder, and with the other he caressed my right cheek. His touch was tender and loving - but suddenly it wasn't. His left hand slipped from my cheek to my neck, and he shoved hard with his right, and all at once, with a bump, I was on my back on the floor. He put a foot on my tummy; his left hand moved from my neck and his right took its place, holding my head down with one hand and tearing at my panties with the other, ripping them to get them off me.

"Eeeeowww!" I cried as he sank two fingers into my sopping pussy and fucked me hard, palm on my clitoris so the sensations spiraled past stimulation into pain - too much! I thought of shouting "Stop!" but I didn't want to end this, knowing without quite forming the thought that the punishment would make the play tastier.

Eventually he stopped. His foot was still on my stomach, and he moved his left hand from my pussy to my mouth so I could suck my wetness from his fingers. "Is kitty going to be good now?" he said.

I said "Mmm" around his fingers, a sad sound, but I was happy that I'd gotten through the little bit of punishment he gave me, that I could take a little pain. I wondered and wanted to find out how much more I could take.

"Come sit in my lap, then," he said.

I did as he said, aware of the contrast between my nakedness and the formality of his dress, and grateful, too, that I'd managed to keep myself slender enough to curl up on his lap, head against his shoulder, while he wrapped his arms all the way around me.

"Kiss me, kitty," he said, and I turned towards him and kissed him, enjoying the tickle of his beard and the faint scent of some masculine soap - and beneath me, the swelling of him let me know that I wasn't the only one turned on here. His lips were aggressive, his tongue penetrating me fiercely - and his hand found my pussy again. His touch wasn't punishing now, but not gentle either - he was pleasing himself, enjoying the sensation of my moisture on his fingers, caring and not caring that what he was doing was almost too much for me and I was gasping into his mouth, my breath hot around his tongue.

He was relentless, holding me tight in one arm, kissing me, finger-fucking me, minutes and minutes of it, till I was writhing and moaning, seconds from coming. . . .

And he scooped me up suddenly, carried me to the bed, threw me down on my back, pried my legs apart with strong hands, and went down on me. His mouth, like his hand, was almost too much on my sensitive spot - he sucked and licked, pausing only for moments so he could dredge my slit with a firm tongue, and I wanted to beg him to be gentler, but I couldn't speak, I could only mew loudly and try to squirm, though his arms around my thighs held me so tight I could scarcely move even that much.

He was possessing me - Yes! - totally in charge of my body. I felt him willing me to come for him, and I submitted to his will, screaming, sensation detonating in me. Who'd have thought a mere kitten could feel this much? Who'd have thought I ever could?

He climbed my body and kissed me, smelling and tasting of pussy. "What now, kitten?" he said, and I mewed softly, a melancholy sound.

"Oh, that's right," he said, "kittens can't talk. Okay, then, what about that tail?"

I said "Meow," a little alarmed. I'd never had an anal plug in me, and I was scared it would hurt, but the thought of ending this scene was unbearable. I gave him a weak smile.

He went to the closet and came back with a little bottle of lubricant. He picked up the tail, which he'd left on the nightstand earlier.

"On your hands and knees, there's a good kitten," he said, and I did as I'd been told, enjoying the feeling of submission as much as I feared the pain.

He petted my back and said, "Relax. I promise it won't hurt much." I concentrated on relaxing my muscles, one at a time - arms, legs, back. I let my head droop.

He petted my bottom and said, "I'm going to lubricate you. Let me know if it doesn't feel good."

He paused - I didn't look - and then his strong hand was spreading cool lubricant in my crack. One finger pressed lightly against my oh so private place, which no man had ever touched, and then probed into me, firmly but gently. It did feel good - the way my muscles pushed back, the slight friction. I sighed with the pleasure, and he pushed deeper and worked his finger around, stretching and widening me, my arousal growing with every movement.

Then after a pause for more lubricant, he pressed a second finger in beside the first. For an instant it hurt, and I flinched and mewed with alarm. He paused, and when I mewed again and backed up a little into his fingers, he pressed on, and I realized that what I'd mistaken for pain was actually a new level of pleasure.

He worked his two fingers in deep, and after he withdrew them, there was the cool of the metal plug, pressing, widening, hurting for an instant - I yowled in protest - and then it was in and the pain was gone, replaced by the pleasure of the wide bulb inside, its stem stretching me, and the delicious knowledge that I now had a kitten's tail! I mewed with contentment and sat back on my bottom, making the plug move inside me and stimulate me more.

He cleaned his hands with a towel and petted my hair, saying, "Excellent kitty!" I was deliciously full: I wished I could have him inside me, so I could know what a cock and the plug would feel like together. But I couldn't make a move - he'd made it clear that he had his own agenda, and we'd follow it. I sat and enjoyed his hand on my head, wiggling my bottom a bit, and making my tail twitch with pleasure.

4. Kitty Cocksucker

He regarded me with open curiosity, wide-eyed and ingenuous. "You're such a beautiful kitty," he said, "with such lovely whiskers, such a pretty, pouty mouth, I can't help thinking how much more beautiful you'd be if you were sucking my cock."

No lover had ever been this frank with me. Heat instantly flooded my face - I'm sure I turned beet red. I hadn't had all that much oral sex in my life - my lovers had been too conservative, too boring. Few of them had gone down on me, and I hadn't often felt motivated to go down on them. Well, this one wasn't boring. I'd been eager to get a look at his cock - I'd gotten myself in trouble trying to undo his pants - but I hadn't imagined giving him oral sex.

Now suddenly there was nothing in the world I wanted to do more. I hadn't even seen his cock - he still had his tie on, his suit jacket, his polished black leather shoes, he was all covered up and neat as a pin, and I was naked in front of him wearing cat ears and a butt plug - I didn't know if he'd be long or short, fat or thin, circumcised or not, and I really didn't care. All I knew was that I wanted, really needed, to suck this man's cock, which right now was making a big bulge in his trousers.

I mewed and tried to look plaintive. I have no idea how to look pouty - I thought his remark about my pouty mouth was probably a fiction.

He unzipped his trousers, reached in, and pulled himself out. He was already erect, thick and circumcised. My mouth was watering. He gestured to me, and I crawled to the edge of the bed where he stood waiting, holding his cock in his right hand.

I opened my mouth and leaned forward, meaning to take him in, but he said, "Uh-uh! I haven't given you permission yet!" I stopped and waited for him.

"Now do precisely as I tell you," he said. "No more and no less. First meow to say hello, and give the tip a little kiss."

"Mew," I said, rounded my lips, and kissed the head of his cock. It was warm and smooth, and I didn't want to pull away.

"That's enough, kitty," he said, and pushed me back.

My pussy had to be dripping, I was so aroused. I looked up into his face and meowed. He watched me with interest.

"Look at my cock," he said. I looked, and he squeezed himself a little - a little clear drop of pre-cum oozed from his slit.

"Do you want it?" he asked.

I meowed.

"You can lick it," he said. "Just one lick, enough to get that drop."

I licked up the drop with the tip of my tongue - it was salty and a little pissy. It wasn't enough; I wanted more. "Meow," I said, trying to communicate my desire with that one syllable.

"Patience, kitty," he said. He lifted himself up, fingers curved around the shaft. I wished I could hold his cock in my hand, but I only had paws.

"You may kiss the frenulum," he said. "Just once."

That little string of skin under the head of him was lovely: I kissed it tenderly.

"Uh-uh!" he said after a few seconds. "That's enough. You're quite the eager kitty, aren't you?"

I was. I meowed insistently.

He backed away from the bed, took two steps to the leather chair, and sat, legs apart, still holding his cock in one hand. "How does kitty ask her owner for what she wants?" he said. "Come and ask."

I mewed impatiently, slid off the bed, and fell forward onto my hands and knees. I crawled to him and rubbed my cheek against his trouser leg, just below his knee. I made a noise in my throat that I hoped sounded like a purr, though I think it probably didn't.

"A good start," he said. I crawled by his leg, rubbing my side, hips, and thigh against him. Back and forth I went, glancing when I could at his cock, which was getting more appetizing with every glance.

"Mmm," he said. "More." I didn't know what else to do. When would he let me suck his cock? I turned towards him, put my hands on his knee, and raised myself into a squat, looking into his eyes. I moved forward and let my knees fall to the floor - my open, wet pussy landed on his foot, and I rubbed myself against his shoe, the laces and bow. They were so hard it hurt, but I was desperate for sensation and didn't care.

"Rowwrrr," I said, loud and demanding, a cat in heat.

"Ohhh, that's nice," he said. He took my head in both hands and guided me to his crotch. I opened my mouth and let him slide me over him, becoming a warm wet sheath for his cock. I closed my lips around him and sucked, drawing my tongue and palate tight for him.

"Yes, kitty," he breathed, and moved my head up and down with his hands. I was kneeling between his legs now, elbows out, resting hands and arms on his thighs, and he pulled my head down, making me take him deeper. It was scary and exciting, the way he was controlling me and using me as his toy.

"Kitty's got to learn to deep throat," he said, and I said "Mmmm" around his cock in fright - I knew I'd throw up if he tried this - but if that was what he wanted, so what?

He pulled out of me a little and said, "Stick out your tongue. Make two fists. Say ah and don't swallow."

I did those things, and he pulled my head down more, slowly and gently, and soon, strangely, he was all the way in me, my lips in his pubic hair, and I hadn't thrown up or even gotten queasy. It didn't matter that his cock was forcing its way through the narrow opening to my throat, that he was hardly letting me breathe - I was in love with the way he was controlling me, with the bruising sensation, with the naughtiness of it.
"Nngh," I said, and pushed myself into him, smashing my nose flat against the fabric of his pants.

He took a fistful of my hair and lifted my head up. "Rowrr!" I protested as I lost his cock.

"You're a natural," he said with amazement in his voice, "a champion cocksucker." He stood, took my head in his hands again, and thrust into me. I spluttered and almost lost it, but it seemed I had a talent for suppressing my gag reflex - I should have known this at twenty! - and I held still and let him slam me, harder and more excited by the second - it was scary how hard he was using me, but fuck this was hot, and I'd never felt so good.

I put my arms around him, holding his buttocks, and pulled, wanting more, willing him to do to my mouth what he'd do to a pussy - and he did, his body moving in spasms now, instinct taking over, pulling fiercely, hair twined into his fingers, till he cried out and pushed deep, and his cum pumped into my mouth and throat - no man had ever come in my mouth, I'd never felt the sticky warmth of it oozing over my tongue.

He thrust into me till there was nothing left of his orgasm, and, unwilling to stop, he thrust a few times more; but finally he pulled out and looked down into my face, something like astonishment in his eyes. I gazed into his strong, lean face and swallowed his cum. I didn't love the fatty, salty flavor of it, but I thought I'd do this a thousand times if I could see that very look on his face each time.

5. Bad Kitty

I thought we were probably done. In my experience, men instantly lost interest after they'd come - and once they'd come, they stopped being very interesting to me. They usually didn't manage to make me come, so I was glad to get rid of them and be left alone to masturbate, fantasizing about the kind of sex I should have had.

Rob raised me to my feet and kissed me. His mouth was passionate, though his cock was going soft. I touched it and took it in my hand as I kissed him, knowing now that this was the fuck I'd fantasized about all those times I'd masturbated alone.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

"Meow," I said.

"Use words. You can be a kitten again later."

"I'm - "

"Don't tell me about the person I know," he said, tucking himself away and zipping up his fly, "the department chair, my supervisor. Tell me about the secret you - the one you've never told anyone about."

"I'm a good cocksucker," I whispered. "I never knew that till now."

"You are," he said. "A secret kitty cocksucker slut. Do you mind if I call you a slut?"

"What do you mean by slut?"

"Avid for sex."

"I'm avid for sex with you."

"And I with you," he said.

"Then we're both sluts," I said.

"Is that what you're going to call me - a slut?"

"I haven't decided what to call you. Are you going to call me slut?"

"I have to hear more from you about what you are."

"I'm a grown woman who right now is wearing a kitty cat butt plug for you, who let you put kitty ears on me and draw a kitten's nose and whiskers on me. I'm here with you naked, though you're still fully dressed. I just now swallowed a mouthful of your semen, and I want you to fuck me and do whatever you like with my body all night long. Because right now I'm more turned on than ever before in my life."

He touched my cheek and said, "You've got lovely whiskers, kitty." He touched the end of my nose, where he'd drawn the kitty's nose - traced my eyebrows and the line of my jaw with a fingertip.

"Beautiful," he said, put a hand on my neck, and backed me up till I hit the wall with a bump. His body crushed me to the rough brick, the smooth cool wool of his suit sensuous on my skin. He seized both my wrists, lifted them over my head, and held them there with hands strong as iron bands - and he kissed me roughly, tongue jabbing into me, cock hardening again and pressing against my thigh. I couldn't escape if I wanted to, and, oh, I didn't want to - not now, not ever.

"Tie me up," I said, turned on by the rings in the wall around us.

"You said no bondage," he said into my open mouth. "Why should you trust me?"

"Look at me," I said. "I'm naked. I just sucked you off. What's left?"

"You can't imagine how naked you'll feel tied up," he said softly, "and how vulnerable." He held both my wrists above my head with one hand, and finger-fucked me with the other, making me squirm and whine. "You have to trust me absolutely - that I won't hurt you, or that if you get too scared I'll let you loose. Do you trust me enough for this?"

I tried to think about that, though it was hard with his finger inside me. He'd said the exchange of power between a submissive and a dominant was play power, like play money. He was right, up to a point. But when he tied me up, he'd have real power, at least potentially. I couldn't just walk away - not till he decided to turn me loose. I was sure I'd be scared, and even more sure my fright would leave me even more aroused than I was right this second, with him pinching my clitoris through its hood.

"Tie me up," I said.

He smiled his wolfish smile and said, "Your wish is my command." He released me, went to the rack, and came back with a coil of rope and the shears. He cut off two ample lengths of rope and expertly tied them into snug bracelets around each wrist. He positioned me between two of the iron loops, facing the wall, and tied the loose ends of my bracelets to these, leaving a good bit of slack.

He stepped back, gave me a predatory look, and said, "Very nice."

Already I was starting to understand what he'd meant about feeling vulnerable: I was immobilized, unable to run away, completely naked except for the ears, collar, and anal plug, which all together had the effect of making me feel more vulnerable rather than less.

He cut two more lengths of rope and tied my ankles to two rings near the floor, forcing my legs apart. Now my balance was unstable, and I had to rely on the upper ropes to hold me upright. As he tightened these, flattening me against the rough wall, he said, "You can change your mind at any time. Tell me to release you, and I'll do it instantly."

He waited for me to say something. This was insane, as I'd known all along. I'd told this man a few hours before that he was losing his job - and now I'd let him tie me up. If he flayed my skin right off, I'd have no one to blame but myself.

A drop of moisture trickled down the inside of my left thigh. "Meow," I said in a small and quavery voice.

"Okay," he said. He came up behind me, pressing me against the wall with his body - the rough brick stimulated my nipples. He put his left arm around my waist and wound the fingers of his right hand into my hair. He turned my head so my ear was next to his lips and whispered, "Do you know why I punished you before?"

"Meow," I said, fear and excitement building in me. I wiggled my bottom, enjoying the sensation of the wool against my skin.

"Yes, because you bared your claws, but that's only part of it," he said, his breath hot in my ear. "It's not enough, it's not okay, for you to obey me freely, merely because you have the desire to obey. You must surrender freedom and surrender desire. You must obey me not because you want to, but because I want you to. Your only desire must be to fulfill my desires, your only pleasure my pleasure."

"Meow," I breathed. What he was saying was so sexy!

"You believe you have surrendered to me," he continued, "but you haven't yet done so, because you still wish to submit. I am going to punish you for your willfulness, and in doing so teach you true submission - that which is taken by force."

I couldn't meow - I was hyperventilating. Another drop trickled down my thigh, but I can't swear it wasn't sweat.

He extracted my butt plug tail - slowly - I savored the exquisite pleasure of my sphincter contracting around the tapered end of it. He set it aside, went to the rack again, and came back carrying a whip with an elegantly carved wooden handle and many black leather thongs. It looked dangerous, and I braced myself for stinging pain. But when he swung the whip it brushed my naked bottom like a warm breeze.

I meowed again, more for effect than in response to the blow. He swung the whip the same way four more times, the blows some ten seconds apart, then paused before he struck a little harder. Now it was no longer a breeze, but more like a firm pat on my buttocks. Five of these, a pause, and then the third set of five stung a little, but still wasn't nearly as hard as I'd expected at first.

The fourth set of blows was painful but quite bearable, and now I noticed that I was starting to feel a slight euphoria, and a flush of pleasurable warmth that spread from my bottom all through my body. The fifth set of blows really stung, and I mewed with each one - but my euphoria grew, and I was starting to understand what this kind of punishment was about.

With the sixth set of blows I began to think the pain was getting to be a bit much; but I had a floaty feeling, as if my mind were separating from my body and looking on disinterestedly as Rob, still calm and dispassionate, whipped me. I whimpered a little, and tears ran down my cheeks.

I was filled with a strange combination of longing and terror, wondering if the seventh set of blows would come, whether I'd be able to take it, whether it would end if I called a halt. I wondered if I should call a halt to it, but decided I'd wait. The seventh set did come, and it was harder than the sixth, and my ass felt like it was on fire - and yet I was almost overcome with the beauty of it all, of being tied to the wall, whipped by this fabulous man, still in his immaculately pressed suit, not quite so calm now, but panting a little with excitement. My bottom must be all red welts, like the back of the man who'd run into the bar. I hoped it was. The intensity of this moment exceeded what my life had taught me to expect of lovemaking the way the sun is brighter than the moon.

The eighth set of blows came with a swish and a loud slap, and I cried "Oh!" with the first; and with the second I sobbed; and with the third, fourth, and fifth I wept for the pain, for the beauty, for the savage pleasure I could sense he was taking in my agony, and for the intimacy of this moment - the bond between us, of pain given and received with passion.

At some times during the whipping I'd wanted it to stop, and at others I'd longed for more - but now all such desires had left me. I desired only him, and I was indifferent to my own pain and well being. I waited on his will, ready for more blows if it was his pleasure to give them to me.

No more blows came. Instead, he untied my ankles, then my wrists, picked me up, and carried me to the bed, where he laid me down tenderly. I closed my eyes and savored the residual pain while he busied himself about the room.

After a couple of minutes I felt a cool touch where he'd whipped me. Without opening my eyes, I understood that he was applying some soothing lotion to the raw skin of my bottom. I don't know whether it was the lotion or his tenderness that took the pain away, but the stinging and heat did subside.

Then he eased the butt plug back into me, and - Oh! - I knew my body and soul were his absolutely, and I wanted nothing more in the world than for him to command me so I could know his will.

6. Butt Slut Kitty

He lay down beside me and gathered me into his arms, into a full-body embrace; and I realized from the feel of his naked skin on mine that he had taken his clothing off. I opened my eyes, met his direct, frank gaze, and waited for him, ready to desire whatever he desired.

He held me with one hand on my bottom, where the tail still spouted absurdly from my ass, and one arm around my shoulders, and kissed me long and lovingly. Then he placed his hands on my shoulders and pressed downwards, briefly and lightly, towards his chest, his stomach, his cock, which was hard with anticipation. I kissed my way downwards, taking my time to explore, lingering over his firm chest with its spray of hair, his hard stomach, his narrow hips, his muscular thighs - all tan and perfect - his calves, feet, toes, each of which I sucked; and upwards again, between his legs, where the skin was tender and the nerves close to the surface. I lingered inside his thighs, teasing us both, making us groan. When I couldn't stand it anymore I sucked and licked his balls, teasing the underside and farther down, though not quite going to that place -

And then I licked up the middle of his balls, up the underside of his shaft, up to the frenulum, where he was so sensitive. I kissed the head of his cock, looking up to catch him watching what I was doing, and drew him into me, tasted his living, pulsing manhood, took him deep now, mouth wide open around his thick shaft, tonguing his balls - sensing his pleasure, I reveled in his desire.

"Cocksucker!" I thought. "Slut!" Soon we'd part, and we'd never meet this way again. We'd smile in the hallways of the Chemistry Building, silently sharing our secret memories of this one thing we'd done together. But I'd carry away an amazing treasure - the knowledge of what I could do, what I could be for a man and what a man could be for me - and my life would be better and richer.

He seized my head and thrust his pelvis sharply upwards, three times, and I choked and drooled down his shaft, thinking I'd come sucking him if he kept this up. But instead he sat up, raised me to him, kissed my damp mouth, and laid me on my back with a pillow under my head. I lay there squirming with impatience, butt plug moving inside me, while he fetched a condom from the nightstand.

Kneeling between my legs, he held the condom in one hand and let the other rest lightly on my thigh. "Play with yourself, kitty," he said.

My self-consciousness had gotten lost in my desire to please him. Looking at his face and firm body, I put my right hand on my pussy and my left on a breast and started to masturbate the way I sometimes did at home to relax before sleep, stroking my closed lips with little circular strokes.

"Open yourself," he said. "Show me your wet cunt."

For a second I was shocked by his language, but then desire surged in me: I wanted to show him my cunt. Two-handed, I opened myself for him, and he reached down and touched me - such a confident touch! He knew my body was his, now, to use for his pleasure. "Touch your clit," he said.

I touched myself gingerly. "Rub it!" he commanded, sliding his middle finger into me.

I did as he'd commanded - it was too intense, and I meowed at him unhappily.

"Harder!" he said, sliding a second finger in and fucking me.

"Meow!" I whined, but did as he said. It was painful now, and I mewed pitifully.

"Fuck yourself," he said, taking his hand out of me.

I rubbed myself with one hand while I fucked myself with two fingers of the other - masturbation had never been like this! Meanwhile he was rolling on the condom.

He batted my hand away, mounted me, and thrust into me - now my pussy was hot, gaping, and extremely wet - and it suddenly came to me that the rough masturbation had had a purpose, because the sensation of his cock in my sensitive pussy was magical after all that stimulation.

And, oh, it was all magical - his firm body on top of mine, his cock thrusting hard into me, the butt plug stimulating my ass with every thrust. I willed my body to be a little calmer - I didn't want an orgasm, not yet - but he was determined to turn me on more. He raised himself up on one arm and squeezed a breast, then slapped it, just enough to sting a little, and when I twitched he thrust harder and deeper, and my whole body sang with the pleasure and pain of him, his thrusts, his slaps, the aura of happiness that seemed to surround him.

"Meow!" I cried, and then lost the fantasy, lost all my words, and just said "Ah!" - a drawn-out, breathy syllable. My body was all sensation and I was seconds from coming.

Suddenly he pulled out of me, climbed off, flipped me over, set me on my knees, and pulled the butt plug out.

"Ow!" I said - but the pain lasted only a second, followed by a burst of pleasure as my anus closed up. The lubricant he poured into my crack was cool, and he massaged it into my hole. His fingers probed into my ass again, and, oh, it was good, and I didn't even bother to be scared by what I knew was coming. Endorphins and epinephrine were running riot in my body, my pleasure centers lit up like Times Square, and -

With one hand on my shoulder, he pressed into my ass, slowly, slowly: some pressure, then the first penetration - it was okay, pure pleasure, since the butt plug had already stretched me - then more pressure, more stretching, pleasure blending into pain that soared into a howling, wild pain that took over my whole body. I gathered up two fistfuls of bedspread, shoved a bunch of the cloth into my mouth, and bit down hard to keep from screaming. I keened behind my makeshift gag as pain detonated in my ass.

And then he was in all the way, and, slowly and gently at first, he pulled out and thrust in, taking his time, giving me bursts of pain and pleasure in delicious counterpoint, till I was whining to urge him on - faster, harder!

Soon he was fucking me - oh, how he fucked me! He was above me now, on his feet, clutching my neck in one strong hand as he grasped the bed-frame with the other. And it was neither pleasure nor pain, but pure fiery intensity, yet not enough, and I was feverish, needy, wanting more, more, more, an alley cat now, caterwauling, yowling, hissing.

He wound his fingers into my hair and yanked my head back, leaned close to my ear, and hissed, "Butt slut kitty! Masturbate! Rub your cunt!"

"Ow, meow!" I cried. "Eeeowwr!" I let myself fall onto one shoulder and reached between my legs, and it was more intensity, a spiral of flame burning all through me, up and up, till I howled again, my orgasm a conflagration, beyond sensation, beyond mere pain and pleasure, consuming my body.

As the sensations subsided I became aware of him again, hand on my throat now, hammering my ass - and it hurt, but now it was his pleasure that overwhelmed the searing pain. It was the joy I sensed in his hot cock, his heavy breathing, the way he held my shoulder and yanked my hair, lost in himself - and then with violent thrusts that tore screeches from my tired throat, he came.

He fell off me and rolled onto his back. I sat beside him, peeled off his condom, leaned down, and kissed his cock - the very tip, where it was slimy with his cum. Doing that, I knew I was his slut.

7. His Kitty

We didn't say anything for a long time. Then I said, "Thank you."

"For what? Calling you names? Whipping you? Humiliating you?"

"Yes, all those things," I said. "And showing me how amazing sex can be. You've changed my life in a few hours. I'll always remember this night."

He sat up, alarmed. "What do you mean, you'll always remember? You're not going to leave me, are you?"

"I assumed . . ."

"For years I've been enthralled by you, and I've been planning my whole life around this night for months. You seem so invulnerable, so indomitable, so impenetrable. But I've always sensed there's more to you than that, and I studied you till I could see the kitten inside the lioness, mewing for attention, longing to be dominated, disciplined, commanded, and fucked. When I finally spotted your kitten I knew I loved you, and I could give you your heart's desire. You can't say I wasn't right about you."

"Yes," I breathed. "You had me right."

"Stay with me," he said urgently. "Let's spend Thanksgiving break right here in this room. You won't believe how much pleasure and pain is waiting for us there in that closet, in that cross over there, that hook up in the ceiling - and here's a man who worships you, body and soul, the way you deserve to be worshiped."
"There's Thanksgiving dinner, I promised to go to a . . ."

"Tell them you can't get away from the lab. They'll understand." He pulled me onto his lap - I had no will to resist him. But he had turned me so I was staring again at the chained woman above the bed.

I asked, "What's going on with that woman in the picture? How is her bottom attached to that chain? Why is she standing on tiptoe?"

"Stay with me," he said, "and I'll show you. Tomorrow."

"It's something painful, isn't it?" I said.

"Yes."

I looked into his eyes - they were blue and earnest, and I felt his gaze, freezing hot, in my nipples, thighs, clitoris - and my ass, where the cold steel would penetrate me the next day. I shivered and said, "You're a dangerous man, you know that?"

"Wild kitty," he said, "feral thing, come take a bath with me. I want to wash your fur."

He was soaping my back. His hands felt good on my skin.

I asked, "Would this night have turned out differently if I'd given you better news over dinner?"

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe a little. But it's not that big a deal, you know - making a living is easy, but love is difficult. I'm not worried about my future, as long as it's got you in it."

kitten   wolf   and   the  

May 7, 2018 in bdsm

Search

Tags