Once upon a time, there was a girl with the heart of a kitten. Shy, and skittish, she was slowly coaxed from under the bed, or should I say, out of the closet by her owner, and then her new found friend and next door neighbor. Eventually, she shared her story, and became comfortable about talking about it, even writing about it, playing with a few select others who would throw balls of yarn for her or scratch her behind the ears and smile as she rubbed up against their legs, showering them with affection and yes, even love…
That changed one night: Valentine’s Day. How or why is unimportant. All that needs to be shared is that her mottled brown ears were placed in a box labeled Sad Things
in faded red Sharpie. With it went her pink rhinestone collar with the little silver bell and silver tag with her name on it that declared her Property of Kay
, her tail, her kitty slippers and kitty mittens and her furry little kitty bottoms. Banished to the top shelf in her closet, hidden away, there they languished for months and months and months…
Some things, once broken, never heal. Kitty hearts, however, are surprisingly resilient, and kitties love to tell tales almost as much as they like to take long naps, snuggle with their owners, or lap milk from their ceramic bowl and chase yarn balls down the hall, mewing delightedly. I
One night, not so long ago, a very curious kitty and her
owner awoke my inner kitty once again, making me pause in the midst of an online conversation and pull out the step stool in order to retrieve my box of sad memories so that I could, once again, don my kitty ears and collar. The transformation was painful, but over quickly and, where once Rachel had stood, a slightly disheveled light brown kitten stood, her eyes impossibly large, her ears back, her tail down, trembling with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. She spent the next few hours slowly coming out of her shell, purring softly, rubbing up against legs, arms, nuzzling cheeks, licking noses… better yet, there was another kitty in the room. For the first time, I had a playmate of the four legged, triangle eared, soft and furry kind!
It stayed with me, that feeling, not for hours, nor just over night, but for days, smiling shyly every time I thought of her, so much so that my owner began teasing me.
“You’ve got that look, Rachel.”
“Huh?” I replied, proving once again that my conversational skills are without equal.
“That distracted look, the one that either means you’ve done something you’re not supposed to…”
I shook my head vehemently at that, denying even the possibility. After all, hadn’t I been the model of perfect behavior ever since I’d had my heart stomped on and smashed into little bitty pieces (Ok, so perhaps I am still bitter about that. It’s my right, after all, as the injured party)?
In fact, other than a single close call, where I’d told a bed time story to a certain someone that might have toed the line of what was proper behavior and what wasn’t, I’d been as close to perfect as it was possible for me to be. Certainly, playing with myself while chatting online when the other person is unaware of what you are doing, doesn’t count. No emotional or physical connection. The timing is purely co-incidental, am I right? And that night with the dancer with the amazing muscle tone and the penis that curved rather nicely upward doesn’t count; it was not only fully sanctioned by my owner-slash-wife-slash-lover, but she
was the one who suggested it and, if I recall correctly, his cock spent more time pumping in and out of her
pussy, not to mention her ass, than it spent in mine by a ratio of four to one. Not that I was comparing! That reminds me, her birthday is coming up. I wonder if he’d agree to let me gift wrap him…
“… or are about to do something you’re not supposed to be doing.”
Once again, I shook my head, this time less decisively. After all, I was thinking
about doing things that would get me into trouble. Thinking, however, and doing are definitely not the same.
“Care to share?”
Oh, that tone. How I hated it. Perhaps hate is too strong a word. Resentment might be a better one. It was the tone of command, that moment when she stopped being my lover and began being my Mistress. Sighing, I smiled shyly at her, putting on what I knew to be my most innocent expression (after all, it was one I’d practiced in the mirror at least a thousand times since we’d become partners. It consists of a slight down tilt of the head so that I was looking up at her through my lashes as I pulled my lower lip slightly between my teeth and opened my eyes as wide as was humanly possible. My kitteny look.
“Remember I told you about the other kitty girl?”
She raised one eyebrow, her dark brown eyes expressionless, neither smiling nor frowning.
“Was I, perhaps, asleep at the time?”
This time I simply shrugged and focused on the string of Christmas lights that hung above the window behind our dining room table, one of several strings that decorate our house year round.
“Go on, babe.”
I took a deep breath, refusing to be intimidated into a conversation I wasn’t sure I wanted to have. My resolve lasted less time than it took to draw air into my lungs.
“You fuck her yet?”
“Oh my god, no!”
Filled with righteous indignation I folded my arms across my chest and feigned a look of extreme hurt, one that caused her to burst out into peals of laughter.
“But you want to.”
doesn’t laugh at me.”
“She makes your panties wet, you mean.”
Righteous indignation quickly turned into the shyest of smiles, this one not rehearsed.
With a sigh, she bullied me gently towards the love seat, pulling me down as she sat, framing my face in her hands, so that my lips were slightly puckered, gazing deep into my eyes.
I stared into her eyes, all of our shared history on parade in my memories. The first time we’d met, me a confused teen with no prospects of what to do with my life, let alone where I was going to sleep that night, her a sharp and focused young woman working her way through a prestigious university. The first night we’d kissed under the mistletoe, not as lovers, but as friends sharing a moment. The first time we’d made love… oh, god, I’d finally met someone who loved to fuck as much as I did, who wasn’t afraid to try something new, adventurous and ‘forbidden’. Someone who I could go shopping for shoes with and have it turn into a game of intimate touches until neither of us could stand it anymore and it was all we could do to get inside of her front door before tearing each other’s clothes off. And then, there were those times we didn’t bother even trying to make it back…
Other things stood out too. She was the one who sat beside me reading me tales of Winnie the Pooh while I was too sick to even keep the book upright, even though she’d split the last fourteen hours between classes and work. The one who stopped by my little closet at the Mission because ‘she hated eating alone’ always bringing enough for two, knowing how tight things were for me financially.
Oh, and so many beautiful moments. Christmases shared, family gatherings survived, the night I’d convinced her to sneak into my dad’s garage, high on acid, and drive his HO scale trains around the track he’d spent the last ten years carefully laying out. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that much. In fact, there’s been a lot of joy in my life since I first met her. It’s a very rare thing not to hear laughter in the home we share.
Foremost in my mind, however, was that night, not two months ago, outside of Grace Cathedral when we promised each other that, for however long our fragile little hearts kept beating, we’d love and cherish and honor and obey each other. And yet, here I was, admitting that I wanted to play with someone else…
“She understands what it’s like to be a kitty.”
It was the only answer I had to give. It was also the truth. Kay is, for lack of a better word, a Domme. Not the kind you generally think of when you hear the word. Whip wielding women in leather thigh boots with a permanent sneer engraved on their faces. Those only exist in pornos… well, not entirely, but most true Dommes I know are so much more than that; real people with all the beautiful complications and nuances that come with the territory. With Kay, it was a sense of confidence, a subtle aggression. She has an edge within her. She is driven to succeed beyond expectations; school, her career, her personal life, her single minded purpose to eradicate clutter and dirt within the confines of our house, an almost impossible task with two kittens and a girl with a kitty heart running around underfoot and off the leash. And yet, she is patient with me even when I’m at my worst.
That said, for all that I love her, for all that I she is my sun, moon and stars, there are times when I want someone… different. Don’t we all, at some time in our lives, desire that? No matter how much in love, it’s our nature to wonder about the grass on the other side of the fence. Not a forever girl, but a right now girl who could feed that part of me, that desire, that need
. Kay is my forever girl. That would never change, but did that mean there was no room in my life for other kitties? Stubbornly, I pressed on.
“I miss being a kitty.”
I wanted this to be the funny moment in my tale, where I reveal that I shed some crocodile tears and added a little quiver to my lip in order to soften her up. My tears, however, were very real. A flood of feelings, of hurt, of loss flooded through me with those words, and I dissolved for a moment. Not for long, but long enough to earn her embrace, her kiss, her soothing words, one of which stood out in my mind during the next few days…
“We’ll talk about it.”
Admittedly, it was four words, five if you count the contraction as two, but to me, it sounded like one… and that word was Yes
. In my despair, I was triumphant. My inner kitten was already bouncing around inside my brain. II
I am embarrassed to admit how much time I spent purring, mewing, nuzzling, and snuggling over the next few days, not to mention the time I spent rubbing up against inanimate objects. So far, only my ears and collar had made it out of the box, and it was rare I put on my collar by myself; that was my owner’s responsibility, after all. I did, however, get reacquainted with my ears.
Oh, how I missed them peeking up over my head. I spent a little more time than I care to admit passing in front of the mirror on the way here or there, peeking at my reflection, secretly pleased that there it was a kitty girl who stared back at me, rather than a human girl. Giggling, I’d slip into that mindset, flopping on the bed and s-t-r-e-a-c-h-i-n-g my arms out, my back curving pleasantly as I purred. Not that I would ever admit it. After all, I hate being laughed at more than anything. (And I am not going to tell how I’d put them on and carefully adjust them every time I went on line. No one had to know as long as I kept my mouth shut, right? For now, my secret is safe).
Nothing shook me. Not the awkward appearance of an ex-boyfriend one night while I was so lost in my flirtations that I hadn’t even noticed his arrival, nor his sudden disappearance from the site shortly after declaring himself back. The girl inside of me would have been sad, having planned to interrogate him on the past six months of his life as well as assure him that, yes, she’d missed him, even though he’d chosen to forget about her
until it was convenient. Thing is, I am still fond of him. He is a good guy, and was the first person online to whom I’d ever let the cat out of the bag, literally, about my other identity as kitty girl. The girl, as I said, would be moody for days. The kitten, however, took it all in stride. All it desires is to be fed and nurtured, to love and to be loved. Those four basic needs. Everything else is simply window dressing. Look up Zen in the dictionary. I’m sure there’s a mention of cats. III
But Rachel, where the hell is the sex? Admit it, that’s what most of you are asking. Just chill out already! For God’s sake, whatever happened to artistic expression? As so many writers have proven, just because it is porn doesn’t mean it can’t be great literature as well. Not that I kid myself that I’m on the same playing field as Charles Dickens. Maybe not even that gal who wrote the Twilight books which my owner adores so much (translation: I’m honor bound not to give you my honest opinion about the quality of writing). I’m simply asking for patience while I set things up.
We’d been invited to a party. More specifically, a Clue party. Yes, the board game. It wasn’t the first occasion we’d rode along with Mike and Cindy, our next door neighbors, to a gathering of their theatre minded friends for a night filled with fun and games. The first time, I had been cast as Mrs. Peacock while Kay had been Miss Scarlet. She’s spent the night flirting while being drooled over by every single living male as well as one dead one (Clue, after all, is a murder mystery) while I wandered around, too shy to actually play the game as it was supposed to be played.
Here’s how it works…( feel free to skip this part if you don’t really care and can’t wait to see some hot girl on girl action. Go ahead, I dare you. That said, there will be a quiz at the end; anyone getting one hundred percent wins… well, I’ll think of something).
Everyone is a suspect. Besides the usual suspects (Mr. Green, Professor Plum, Colonel Mustard representing the men – Mrs. White, Miss Scarlet, and Mrs. Peacock representing the women), there were a few new ones, all color coded as well. Dr. Brown, Father Black, Mr. Gold, Lady Pink, Miss Grey, and Mrs. Silver were also among the esteemed guests. I had been given the role of Mrs. White this time around, dressing in virginal white. By now, we were comfortable enough with this crowd to know that the atmosphere, while not necessarily erotic, was decidedly leaning in that direction, or would, once the wine bottles were uncorked, so we dressed appropriately. Kay, of course, looked stunning sheathed in a silver dress that did an excellent job of showing off her ample cleavage as well as her lovely thighs. Her shoes, of course, matched, as did the hairband and jewelry she’d chosen. As for me…
I was already aware, going in, that thin white cotton tends not to wear well when damp, nor does it tend to conceal in certain circumstances and yes, I was the shy one of the group. Cindy, of course, knew everyone and was just as bawdy and ribald as she usually was once she got a little alcohol into her system and Lady Pink was a fitting choice, considering she actually owned
a pink wig. Mike, on the other hand, looked properly dapper as Dr. Black. It fit very well with his sometimes macabre sense of humor.
Tonight, someone died. No, not really! You think I’d admit to being an accomplice to murder in print? The victim was, in fact, a mannequin named Mr. Body. We all did our best to ignore him, seeing as he wasn’t exactly the life of the party, and just sort of have fun. I’d brought along several plates of dark chocolate-raspberry brownies to add to the pile of edibles and they seemed to push me into almost instant celebrity status. I went from being ‘the girlfriend of the hot chick dressed in silver’ to ‘the girl who brought the killer brownies… who came with the hot chick dressed in silver’. Yeah, being Kay’s partner does wonders for my ego.
So, here is how it works. One dead body, one murderer. Everyone is given an envelope once the body is ‘discovered’. In the envelope are three cards drawn at random. There are twelve suspects, twelve possible weapons, and twelve rooms where the deed may have occurred. The goal of the game is to figure out who did the dastardly deed, with what, and where. That means roaming around the house convincing people to show you what cards they have, making deals, forming alliances, and keeping track of it all (easier said than done with every alcoholic beverage consumed) while trying to unravel the mystery. Obviously, you need to get a peek at all thirty six cards to know for sure. In the end, there is always a lot some luck involved as well as some guess work.
The first time I’d played, I’d gone in with the belief that people played fair. After all, I’ve made a career of not cheating at games. I was disabused of that notion almost immediately when Kay told me to show her my cards.
“Only if you show me yours,” I’d told her.
“No. Show me yours and I’ll fuck your brains out on the back porch when we get home,” she’d told me. Five minutes into the night, she’d ruled out six scenarios and I was left without a clue. That’s how the night had begun. It only got worse, at least for me.
Tonight, however, I was ready for her. I’d fallen for that trick once… ok, twice. She’d done the same thing the second time we’d played, too. For my troubles, I’d been bent over the foot board of our bed, my dress up around my waist, my panties around my knees, and spanked until my ass and thighs were scarlet. It would have been less humiliating had I not cum before the ordeal was over. More than once.
“Show me your cards, Mrs. White.”
“Never, Mrs. Silver! I am not falling for your fiendish tricks this time. You show me yours first.”
I was ready to stand firm, no matter what she offered me. In fact, I planted my hands on my hips and stared her down defiantly until she threw her hands in the air and admitted defeat. That was how it was supposed to work, anyway. The reality is that it back fired a little. Okay, a lot.
Smiling, she led me off into the one place where we were assured of privacy, the bathroom. I knew I was in trouble when she locked the door.
“What were you talking about this evening, Rach?”
“Huh?” I answered glibly. I use that word a lot around her.
“You and your kitty friend.”
“Did you make her cum?”
I grinned, feeling like I finally had the upper hand. Why I thought that, I have no idea, but at least I could answer her honestly in a way she didn’t expect.
“Nope! We just flirted and snuggled. I was a good girl.”
That earned me a smile as she reached out and mussed my hair fondly. I have never been able to lie to her. Oh, I might avoid the truth, but I find it impossible to lie and she knows
“Talked about what? I saw the look on your face, sweetheart.”
God, I was screwed. In truth, I’d admitted a certain fondness for peeing. It was, after all, part of one of my earlier kitty girl stories and it might have been mentioned before saying farewell for the evening. Meep
was the word I mumbled so softly even I couldn’t hear it. Satisfied that I had answered her, I did my best to move around her and flee her presence. She simply reached out and grabbed my wrist, thwarting me. That left me with only two option. Using my kung fu on her or screaming for help… Okay, three options. Staring at the floor, I mumbled again, this time a little louder.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Peeing.” I mumbled once more, turning what I was sure was a bright shade of crimson.
“What about peeing?”
“Fine, you can see my stupid cards.”
She only laughed at my outburst, shaking her head. I started to get a little nervous.
“I’d rather know what you talked about, Mrs. White.”
So, knowing it was a mistake, wanting with all my heart to lie to her, I whispered my dirty little secret into her ear and then, with a sigh, showed her all three of my cards.
“You’re mean,” I told her, earning me another laugh.
“Just wait, kitten. The night is still young.” IV
Finally, we get to the sex part! I know! I was beginning to wonder too!
The rest of the night was fun despite my handicap of being unable to cut a single good deal. Cindy spent a good five minutes making out with me in the walk in closet before peeking at all three of my cards, only showing me one of hers in return. At least I knew I wasn’t the murderer after she left me to take stock of the wet spot spreading over my clean white panties. That was the upside. The down side was that I’d spent the last fifteen minutes dwelling on what I’d told Kay and, predictably for anyone who knows me, I was finding it hard to think straight. Cindy had given both of my sensitive nipples a playful twist before moving on, leaving me in a state of heightened arousal that seemed to be quite obvious to Mr. Green who spent as much time staring at my tits as he did convincing me to show him my cards. At last, I got the upper hand, getting a glimpse of two for the price of one.
The game stretched out for as long as people were having fun. Eventually, though, it came to a close, everyone scribbling down their theories and turning them in. Mine was wild speculation. In fact, I decided to be silly and make the following choices: Mr. Rainbow-brite, with the cattle prod, in the Bat Cave. At least it got some laughs when read out loud.
I did feel redeemed that Kate got the weapon wrong. She’d guessed garrot, when it was, in fact, death by poison. Dr. Brown ended up winning. I think it was because he’d been the one person not drinking. As for me, I might have had a little too much wine. Enough so that I didn’t suspect a thing when Kate took me by the hand and led into the back yard for some fresh air.
“Lift up your dress, baby.”
“Huh?” Now do you see the pattern?
“Lift up your dress, Rach. I want to see your dirty little cunt. I know that look. You’re dripping wet.”
She giggled as she grabbed the hem of my dress and tried to lift it while I fought to keep it down. It was, as you might suspect, a lost cause.
“People will see,” I complained, looing nervously around.
“So? Anyway, everyone’s inside right now.”
She had a point. We did seem to be alone, at least for now. How long that would last, I had no clue. Maybe it would be best to get this over with. That thought in mind, I pushed her hands away and lifted the hem of my dress, my heart beating like made, my breath quickening, my cheeks burning with shame.
“I knew it. You’re dirty little pussy is soaked. I bet I know why too. Been thinking about her
, haven’t you. Remember what you told me, baby? What you promised her?”
It wasn’t so much of a word as it was a gasp. I remembered all too well. It had been all I could think about since she’d trapped me in the bathroom.
“Play with yourself. I want to watch.”
“Oh, my God, no!”
“Do it, Rach.”
That edge returned to her voice, sending shivers up and down my spine, stealing my breath away. I wanted to stop my hand from moving between my legs, my feet from shuffling slightly outward, my fingers from caressing the drenched panel of my white cotton panties, teasing my puffed up clit torturously.
“Don’t make me cum. Please?”
It was like a game, one I knew so well. I could stop it, of course, if I wanted to. The thing was, I didn’t. I got off on knowing that, at any moment, someone might wander outside into the cool Seattle night for a smoke or a hit off a pipe, or just some fresh air, and they’d see me, the hem of my dress clenched in one fist, my fingers slipping into the waistband of my panties, the movement of my hand beneath the material as I teased myself, my eyes never leaving Kay’s painfully beautiful face.
I forget to breath and then, when I remembered, it was more of a purr.
“Don’t stop, baby. You made a promise. Good girls always keep their promises. You want to be a good girl, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I told her, shaking as I felt myself getting closer and closer.
“Then just relax, Rachel. Let it go.”
I kept my voice low, not wanting to draw attention from inside, suddenly sure that we were going to get caught.
“I’m not going to let you cum until you do. Don’t you want to cum, babe?”
“Oh, God, yes!”
I felt it, something inside of me like a dam that was about to burst. I’d had a little too much wine, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone to the bathroom… it began as a trickle of warmth that soaked through my panties, dripping from the crotch before growing into a tickling stream running down the insides of my thighs.
“What a dirty little slut. Pissing your panties like that. What would your little kitty friend say?”
I was too far gone to reply, still stroking my pulsing clit, the relief of letting my bladder flow almost orgasmic in itself. My fingers were become drenched as the stream grew to a gushing flood, running down my legs, turning me into quivering jelly.
“That’s my kitten. Would you like to cum for me, now?”
“Yes,” I hissed, earning me a sharp snort of laughter.
By then, I was desperate and would have done anything to be granted her permission. Saying ‘please’ was not very hard.
“Please please please,” I repeated, in case she didn’t hear the first two.
“Cum for me, kitty girl.”
Before she was even done, I exploded, my piss spraying against my panties, soaking them further, drenching my fingers, my hand, my cunt gushing, my body shaking apart as I drove myself over the edge with a sharp cry, clinging to her as she caught me before I collapsed on the lawn, my legs too weak to hold me up.
“That’s my girl. I love you.”
I managed a weak smile, shame burning through me, as well as pride. I’d done it. I felt like pumping my fist into the air in triumph. Instead, I just whimpered, suddenly aware of her hand against me, stroking my sopping wet cunt through the cotton, pushing my panties aside, her fingers roughly slipping into my lubricated cunt, fucking me with an expertise that not even I had, until I shuddered into another orgasm, this one silent, but just as powerful. How it was that we remained undiscovered, I don’t know. Perhaps she’d picked a place in the shadows carefully before committing me to my indiscretions. Perhaps it had been pure dumb luck. The only problem, of course, was that I now smelled of pussy and piss. Not only that, but I’d let go of my hem sometime during my little escapade and soaked it with my pee as well.
After I pointed this out, she merely instructed me to stand still for her while she pulled my pee soaked panties down my thighs and licked my clean shaven mound clean, warning me that this time, I wasn’t allowed to cum.
I guess that my hearing had gone bad. It was all I could do to stand upright, my fingers tangled in her hair as I climaxed for the third time in a little under a half hour, my eyes going wide with horror when I realized that we had company; Cindy.
“So… this is where you went. We were thinking of calling it a night.”
“Umm.” I managed glibly, doing my best to focus on her words. I’m pretty sure my eyes were glazed over with lust at that point. Any normal person would be thinking things like oh, my god, she saw my vagina
or yeah, we should probably leave
or even I could really go for some chips and salsa
. Not kitty girl. Kitty girl could only think about one thing; Kay and Cindy pushing me up against the fence and ravishing me. I might have even said something to that effect. Sadly, however, nothing like that happened. Instead I was treated to a wipe down with paper towels before being snuck out the side gate and forced to sit on a couple of unfolded sweatshirts purloined from the trunk of Mike’s Honda Civic.
The ride home? I remember shivering in the back seat while Kay held me, clinging to her, a fevered sort of lust worming its way through me. If I could have spoken, I’m fairly certain I would have asked her to make me cum again, not even caring that we’d have an audience. I recall her pushing my hands away from my cunt at least twice and covering me up with the piss soaked hem of my dress. Mike would have to air the car out or maybe buy one of those trees that you hang from the rear view mirror to chase away my fragrance. I’d have to apologize with baked goods or dinner some night. Or a blow job. Yes, that’s how far gone I was.
We made it home without incident. Cindy, a little drunk, offered to help put me to bed, but Kay demurred, probably noticing the way Mike was eyeing her, his eyes glittering with lust. I’m sure that neither of them got much sleep that night.
As for me, I wasn’t off the hook, not quite yet. Twice. That’s what I had told Kay. I’d said I’d wet myself twice. The second time wasn’t quite as satisfying as the first. She stripped me naked and pulled me into the shower with her, soaping me up and then rinsing me down, until I purred with delight, her hands seemingly everywhere until I told her in couldn’t hold it in anymore. This time, when I peed myself she cupped my pussy, letting my golden flow stream through her fingers which she then held to my mouth and let me suck them clean.
We lay in bed afterwards, arms wrapped around each other, a curtain of hair, hers dark, mine light, shielding our faces, shutting out the outside word, our lips brushing, my purr almost silent as I fell into a deep and satisfied slumber, my head full of kitteny dreams.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/fetish/the-heart-of-a-kitty-a-kitty-girl-tale.aspx">The Heart of a Kitty - a Kitty Girl Tale</a>