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Happy Birthday, Kitty - A Kitty Girl Story

A different kind of kitty girl story, much less light hearted.

Sept 23, 2004

As every comic book geek knows, every superhero is born of a traumatic, life-changing event. Be it the death of the Uncle Ben or the full scale destruction of Krypton, those moments are what forges them. Kitty Girl is no different. The seeds of my transformation were sown by my very own arch-nemesis, a man who shall ever more be known simply as The Monster.

It was the sound of glass shattering from which she was born. That is my last clear memory of my 22nd birthday. Afterwards there was only confusion and a series of images that I still struggle to put in chronological order. What led up to that moment, however, I remember with crystal clarity despite the fact that I prefer not to share.

The worst thing about the ICU was the loneliness. I felt cut off from everything and everyone I loved, bewildered by the spider web of tubes and wires that held me trapped as I drifted, half way between worlds, my only anchor an ever growing collection of post-it notes left by the parade of nurses that visited me. Each time they would pull me back into the world of pain that I had thankfully left behind every time I closed my eyes and I began to resent them. The nurses, that is, not the notes. The notes were my life-line to the girl who sat in the waiting room, eyes rimmed red as she scribed cheerful notes with her beloved Waterman pen on brightly colored post-its. There were drawings, too, even though by her own admission she can’t draw. Her cats looked like hamsters and her flowers looked like… well, hamsters. At least she had the hamsters down. Each time someone went into my room, she’d insist that they take as many post-it’s as they would. They ended up lining the railing of my hospital bed, brightening my life, connecting me to the outside world and, more importantly, to her.

I stayed with her for a time, until I could find a place of my own. She became the big sister I had never had for the second time in our relationship. Together we explored this new world I had stepped into, this new life, one defined by fear. I found solace in writing and began to create a world in which the man who did his best to break me was a knight in shining armor, a prince. I fell in love with him again, only this time, the ending was a happy one. Believe me, I am all too aware of how sick that was.

I took the events of 6 months and turned them into years, and the line between reality and illusion began to blur. This was how I coped. Eventually, I moved into a small apartment of my own, eager to start all over, to leave the past behind, not yet aware of how tenacious history can be. I took the jigsaw of my delusional stories and lost myself in them, creating new personas for myself, becoming them for a time. My madness didn’t last long, but long enough to leave an indelible print on me. The one constant in my life became Kay’s visitations, her phone calls, her presence. She learned when to touch me and when I couldn’t bear to be touched. She stayed up through the night with me when I was afraid to turn off the lights and close my eyes, knowing that the world of dreams was a dangerous place to dwell. She learned how to deal with the seizure like nightmares that would leave us both frightened and drained and unable to slip back into slumbers. And she learned to accept the parade of one night stands that I embarked upon, using them to erase the memory of The Monster. His touch, his kiss, his cock pumping in and out of my tight ass...

Together, we began to put the jigsaw puzzle of my psyche back together, a patchwork with missing pieces, but whole enough for me to get on with my life until the following September. I approached my birthday with dread, becoming increasingly neurotic as the month slipped through my fingers. My nightmares grew more frequent and worse, they began to seep into my daily life. I’d zone out while doing the simplest things, suddenly remembering that day, the terror that I’d felt, and emotions too complicated to even grasp. I became resentful of Kay. After all, in a way, she had introduced me to Him. We fought, or rather I fought, screaming at her, spewing all the anger that I’d kept welled up inside me for the past year at the only target I had. She weathered it, although I discovered later what a toll it had taken on her as well. Over the past year I’d begun using my flesh as a canvass. Black sharpie pens were my go to instrument, and I’d begin scribbling little thoughts or bits of story or dialogue on the back of my hand and my arm. It was harmless, or so we thought at first. Slowly that changed as I discovered other tools, often waking up in the middle of the night with the urgent need to document a half remembered line that had come to me in that place between worlds.

It all came to a head on my birthday. It was a quiet affair. My best friends were all present, and my family. There was a store bought cake with sugary flowers on it and too much frosting. I hated it immediately.

Despite Kay’s best efforts to draw me out, I was sullen, communicating in as few words as I could manage, if at all. The mood wasn’t one of joy but rather of a brewing storm. Asked to cut the cake, I became angry as I discovered something else the Monster had taken from me. That cake became an object of hate for me, a reminder of what had been done to me and a great surge of hatred rose up in me as I stabbed it over and over, screaming obscenities. Afterwards, I fled the scene of the crime and sought sanctuary.


Grace Cathedral. It lay across the bay from my crappy little apartment. It had been a constant in my life since the first night I’d done ecstasy and ridden on the back of a motorcycle through the October rain, touring the city. Our journey had ended there, and we’d spent the rest of the night in its shadow, only leaving after witnessing the sunrise. Since then, it had been where I’d gone when I was troubled, often seeking solace on it’s steps, letting God’s love wash over me, hoping that somehow, He would wash away my fears.

Laid out before the church, there was a labyrinth, a winding path forming a circle. One way in and one way out. It drew me like a moth to a flame, each foot step taking me closer and closer to the center and farther and farther away from myself. I walked so slowly, pausing at times. I wasn’t alone. Others walked the path too. Not a big line of people, but enough so that I was never completely solitary. Despite that, I felt alone. We were of two different worlds, I realized. They walked in one that I could never return to no matter how far I traveled.

They passed me carefully, respectful of my pauses, of how slow I traveled. I can only guess at how long it took me to reach the center. 45 minutes, perhaps. Once there, I simply sat, feeling cold and empty, my thoughts thankfully blank. I’m not sure what I was looking for, only that I needed something, some reason for going forward. I began to despair when no messenger of heaven came to visit, nor did any celestial voice fill my head with promises. And so I sat, the night creeping in, my legs falling asleep, fading in and out of awareness while the world slowly passed me.

I’m not sure how long it was before I noticed her presence. At first she was just a shadow sitting down beside me. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t even look at me. She was perfectly still. Eventually, I shifted, leaning my head against her shoulder, letting her comfort me. We both wept silently and I, without even realizing it, fell in love.

When I was ready to go, she took me home and put me to bed, promising me that everything would be all right. The next morning, we talked over breakfast and I shared my feelings, how the celebration of the day of my birth had taken on a new and sinister meaning.

"So pick another day." She said, leaning across the table and taking my hands tenderly, squeezing my fingers so very gently.

While I have always been the dreamer, she’s always been the practical one. I was a bit dumbfounded by the simplicity of it. We settled on October 1 st . It was close enough to my real birthday that I could pretend any well wishes were simply arriving a little early and yet far enough away to give me a little distance from the memories that will probably always sneak up on me with my true birth date rolls around. I decided to tack on the two years I invented as well, putting more space between what had been done to me.

We made love. It was tentative and scary. It wasn’t the first time I’d had sex with her, but it was the first time I’d been intimate with anyone in the past year, and the first time since my feelings had changed for her. She didn’t know that yet, and I didn’t tell her, not for a very long time. Afterwards, I lay in her arms, slowly drifting between worlds once again, not afraid to close my eyes for the first time in what seemed like forever.

"What do you want for your birthday this year, Rachel?"

"World peace. Or a pony." I joked. We settled on Kittens.

Two weeks later, I was the proud owner of a pair of 9 week old baby girls whom I fell madly in love with at first sight. It’s no exaggeration to say that they saved my life. They filled my little apartment room with life and joy, getting into everything, keeping me awake at night with their antics. How nice it must be, to be so carefree, to not having any worries, no needs other then food, water, a clean litter box, and the unconditional love that I showered on them. They played until they were worn out, and then they slept. I began to do the same. Slowly, I healed. Kay became a constant in my home. If I was my kitten’s mother, she was their doting Aunt. We grew closer, became a family, and I began my first tentative steps towards kitten-hood, crawling around on the floor with my girls, batting toys around, sleeping nestled in a blanket underneath the dining room table rather then in my bed. In fact, the only time I slept in the bed anymore was when Kay shared it. Of course, I didn’t admit that to anyone. I began to stop wearing the long sleeved turtle necks and baggy trousers that I’d been wearing over the past year, becoming comfortable once more with my body as the physical scars began to fade. Soon, I was romping around in my underwear or less. Although it was years later that I bought my first pair of ears and was given my first collar, I had already begun my transformation into Kitty girl.


October 1, 2010

She dressed me carefully, admonishing me to be still, using that tone of voice that warned me to comply. The silence between us was comfortable as she carefully fastened button after button up the back of my dress, the one that I’d just eagerly unwrapped. Beneath it I was bare, save for the gold barbell that pierced the hood of my clit. She bid me to sit on the bed, and I obeyed, my heart tripping all over itself as she brushed my hair carefully, the light touch of her fingers against my neck and shoulders intoxicating. I wasn’t sure what she had planned, but I knew that it would be special. Carefully, she affixed my ears to my head while humming so softly that it was almost silent. Lifting my hair from the nape of my neck, she completed my transformation from girl to kitten by buckling my beloved collar around my throat.

I began to purr, already feeling all the pent-up angst I’d been feeling over the last week slip away. It had no place in my life or, at least not the life of my present incarnation. I mewed softly when she told me to stay, feeling her presence slip from the bed and leave the room, my blue green eyes still shut tight despite my curiosity. The click as she attached her leash to my collar stirred up the butterflies, their fluttering wings beating inside my ribcage, sounding suspiciously like my heart. I flexed my claws, playfully thinking that it would be fun to open my mouth and let them out so that I might chase them around the room.

She spoke, her voice soft, soothing words that an owner would share with a beloved pet and I remembered that feeling, the first time I’d fallen in love with her. It was a magical moment, one that I’ve held onto since. How I ever thought I might be able to slip the invisible tether that holds us together, I don’t know, nor why I would want to. I am hers, now and forever, both her girl and her kitten.

"Come on, kitty. We’re going for a ride."

I was eager, suddenly, my eyes opening wide, my smile unfettered by the shadows of my past. She laughed, a smoldering sound, as I pulled at my leash, tugging her towards the front door, not caring what any voyeurs might think about my lack of shoes or my collar. Had I been naked, in fact, I don’t think it would have mattered.

We spent the ride in a comfortable silence, touching, always touching, either my paw upon her thigh, or her hand upon mine. She looked especially beautiful, her dark hair framing her face. Charcoal gray trousers and a matching sweater over an impeccable white blouse that showed off her curves and I couldn’t help but notice she’d chosen knee high leather boots. I smiled inwardly, having lovely memories of being made to clean them with my tongue while she stood over me, smacking my bare bottom with her riding crop. I took this for a good sign for the direction of our venture.

I recognized our destination, easily enough. It was the home of a close friend of hers, one that we had included a number of times in our sexual play. He lived a little off the beaten path, his house somewhat secluded. It was, as I was to discover, perfect for her needs, especially since we had it all to ourselves on this particular night.

We parked, and I was led up the walk, and through the house, to the back yard. My heart was pounding in my chest as she led me on my leash, my unfettered cunt already wet with desire as I reminded myself to breathe. Kay was silent, not saying a word, simply giving my leash a playful tug from time to time, chuckling when she happened to glance back at me. Obviously, the look on my face must have been priceless. It was hard not to watch her ass as she walked ahead of me, her 3 inch heels adding an almost hypnotic swing in the soft light provided by the nearby redwood deck. It was nearly 10pm, early by my standards, but late enough that the air was cool as it brushed against my thighs. I shivered, feeling my nipples stiffening, the soft breeze and my arousal doing a number on them. The grass beneath my bare feet was soft, and I delighted at the feel of my toes sinking into it with each step.

She led me to the fence where the light barely penetrated and shadows clung to everything. As my eyes slowly adjusted, I noticed two crinkled plastic bags, the kind you buy at your local supermarket to reuse with each visit. I should mention that Kay is what I fondly refer to as a recycling nazi. Nothing gets thrown out at our house if she can find a way to reuse it. Even our coffee grounds and vegetable trimmings become fertilizer in my small backyard garden.

Wordlessly, she crooked her finger at me, and I stepped forward, enjoying her gentle touch as she brushed my blonde bangs from my face and ran her fingers down my cheeks, finally tilting my chin up with one finger.

"I love you, Rachel." It was too dark to see the look in her dark eyes, but I could hear the fierce love in her voice. I nodded, not quite trusting my voice, hoping and praying that the feeling that flooded my heart would last forever. When I finally attempted a reply, my words were held in by a single finger pressing against my lips.

"Shush, kitten. Remember who you are."

I blushed, grateful she couldn’t see how red my cheeks must have turned, the illumination too faint this far beyond the house. I was kitty girl, of course, and kitty girl didn’t speak. She purred, she mewed, she meowed, even chirped, but speaking wasn’t allowed. Instead, I watched, rooted to the ground as she went through the bags. It was obvious that she’d thought this out well ahead of time. When I later discovered how far ahead, I was humbled. For now, I was too aroused to give it much thought. An electric lantern was produced and turned on, bathing us both in white light. Tent stakes and a mallet. Our leather cuffs fitted for my wrists and ankles. It was like a laundry list of my most deviant fantasies. A gag looking like a horse bit, the bar made of thick rubber. All of that was forgotten when she produced the last item. A cat o’ nine tails. This was new.
Two years ago, I’d begged her to buy one to supplement the crop she normally used on me, but she’d been hesitant, concerned as always that my seeming inability to use my safety word would be my undoing. Nor did the fact that she genuinely disliked causing me pain beyond a certain point help. I wondered if, tonight, she would give me what I’d been craving from her for three and a half years now. I felt my knees going weak even as my pussy seemed to overflow with lust.

"I got some pointers from a pro." she offered, catching my gaze, her expression serious. "Tonight is all about what you want."

I could barely breath as she unclipped the leash from my collar and pushed my roughly towards the fence. I hadn’t noticed the metal rings driven into the thick planks, but now I could barely take my eyes from them. She took my hands, one at a time, kissing my palms as I watched her breathlessly, my heart skipping so many beats that I wondered if I was having some sort of seizure. She kissed my knuckles, her kisses soft and wet against my flesh, before buckling the restraints around my slender wrists.

"Face the fence." she commanded. Where before she had been tender, now her voice was stern. She was no longer my Kay. She had become Mistress Kay and was to be obeyed without question.

I turned, shivering not with the chill of the air, but with apprehension and anticipation. She hadn’t used that tone of voice on me for close to a year now, not since things had started going wrong between us. My fault, of course, but then perhaps that’s unfair to me. Still, I feel that a good percentage of the blame does lie squarely upon my stubborn shoulders. I needed to be absolved, to be cleansed, and who better to do it then the woman I loved with all my heart and soul.

She took one hand and brusquely attached the cuff to the ring. Then the other, so that my arms were spread far apart, about a foot above my head. Next, she fitted the horse bit between my teeth, tightening it securely behind my neck, silencing even my heated mews.

"Don’t want the neighbors complaining." she said, her voice ripe with humor. I wondered at that. The nearest neighbors were a good hundred feet away at least. How loud did she expect me to be? Remembering the flogger I’d caught site of, I begin to feel a true sense of danger running up and down my spine boosting my arousal to an unnatural level as the first trickle of nectar made itself known against the flesh of my inner thigh.

Unsurprisingly, my ankle cuffs came next and were attached briskly to the tent stakes that she pounded into the earth, forcing my feet close to a yard apart. I was rendered helpless as heat coursed through my body, writhing in my bonds until she grabbed a handful of my hair and gave it a sharp yank.

"Happy birthday, slut." she whispered harshly into my ear. "Remember, you wanted this. Tonight, there is no safe word and no mercy, understand?"

I nodded, wincing at the pain in my scalp, wishing I could talk. If I could, I’d have thanked her a million times for what I knew was the ultimate gift. At that moment, I couldn’t imagine loving someone more then I did her at that very moment. It was a feeling that has not since faded.

She tormented me slowly, after that, and in silence. One by one she undid the buttons on the back of my dress, taking her time, running her nails over my exposed shoulder blades between buttons, or kissing my pale skin. By the time she reached the small of my back, I was on fire with need. Only my gag kept me from crying out with frustration, begging her to hurry. She knew, of course. I wondered what I must look like, my body shaking, pinned like an insect in a collection against the fence. She’d fastened my feet far enough away from the barrier so that I couldn’t quite rub myself against it, surely a premeditated form of torture.

By the time she finished with the last button, baring my back and ass like one of those modesty defying hospital gowns, I was whimpering. Chancing a look over my shoulder, I watched her as she stepped back and took up the flogger, something I had only dreamed about being used on me.

"Eyes front, Kitten." she hissed and I obeyed without hesitation. The air felt cool against my exposed back and yet I felt warm, a heat that came from within, a symptom of the soft slap of leather against cloth. I could only imagine the tails of her instrument of divine torture striking against the thigh of her trousers as she surveyed her helpless victim.

"One for each year, Rachel."

Her whisper carried so much weight. I winced before she even landed her first blow, wondering if it would be too much even for me? I shouldn’t have worried, I realized later. After all, she meant this as a gift. Still, the fear was as much a part of it as the pain and the pleasure.


The blow wasn’t as hard as I might wish, but certainly harder then I expected. Pain erupted against my shoulder blade. I imagined I could feel each individual tail of the flogger, each knotted end sending small jolts of agony into my tender flesh. I whimpered, biting down on the bit, my eyes squeezed closed, perfectly aware of the sudden throb of pleasure between my legs.


My other shoulder took the brunt of her punishment. A flash of pain followed by fingers of heat that spread over my back, running up and down my spine. My head fell forward, my forehead brushing the rough wooden fence while I made fists of my hands, over and over, opening and closing, each time tying to relieve the intensely beautiful agony.


This time, my ass. I jerked, not expecting the blow to land there. Even with the gag between my teeth, I made an audible cry as a terrible hurt stole away my breath. I felt tears fill my eyes, threatening to spill over even as the nectar of lust flowed between my engorged labia.


My thighs trembled, threatening to give way. I swore unintelligibly, imagining I would feel the vibrations of her blow in the gold jewelry that kissed my swollen clit.


She continued, each time finding a new target. My ass, my thighs, up and down the meat of my back, the sides of my tits, still stinging, even through the cloth of my parted dress. I was on fire. Soon, I gave up trying to be silent, crying out each time she struck me, the blows stinging like I imagined nettles would. I lost the ability to think, losing track of her count by the time she was halfway done, steeling myself for the next blow, and then next…

Finally, they came to a stop. Blinking away my tears, I wondered if she’d reached the end or is she was simply resting her arm. I was awash in pain as well as pleasure. Other emotions took hold of me too as I fought the sobs that threatened to rise up out of me. I felt so lost, suddenly, the nightmare threatening to swallow me once more, the Monster’s leering face fixing my gaze with his. It was suddenly gone, replaced by a new presence. Once again, just she had sensed what I needed that day at the Cathedral, she was there for me. Only this time, my needs were different.

"Twenty eight." I blinked away my tears, some part of me wondering if that meant that I had one more blow to endure or three? At times, even I forget what is truth and what was fiction. I readied myself for the sharp bite of pain that never came, flinching as she tenderly parted my folds with her fingers and slid her tongue almost tenderly into my soaking wet cunt.

I burst into flames unable to endure the physical pleasure that sent shock waves down my thighs, through my belly, up and down my spine as she kept me on edge until I lost all track of time. She kept me on the brink of orgasm, so close to spilling over, but unable to do so as her tongue worked it’s magic on me. In time, she reached around, her hand beneath the hem of my dress and teased my throbbing clit with practiced fingers. I began to buck my hips as the dam burst and I came, every nerve ending screaming as she pushed me over the edge and into oblivion.


Love is such a strange creature, both fragile and resilient. We find it in the strangest of places, often times unlooked for. Often times it is demanding, and yet the rewards are beyond anything we can hope for. It is something to be shared, a gift to be given away without expectations that it will be returned. That said, when it is? When it is shared between two people equally? Then it is the strongest bond imaginable. I am reminded of this, over and over, each time I touch someone, or am touched. The heart doesn’t listen to reason. It doesn’t let you decide whom you fall in love with. It doesn’t sort between who might be good for you and who might be bad. In a way it is like kitty girl. All it desires is to be fed, to be nurtured, to love and be loved. Sometimes it can be fragile, easily hurt or even broken. It will retreat and hide amongst the shadows, fearful, until it heals and is ready to take those tentative steps out into the light once again, a skittish kitten, ears back, low to the ground, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

And sometimes, it will trot joyfully down the hall, tail held high, eyes wide with wonder, so full of love, knowing with surety that it is loved in return, and cherished.

The second time I came was much gentler, if no less intense. After Kay had released me, I collapsed upon the grass, spent. Lying down with me, she gathered me tenderly in her arms and kissed my cheeks, soothing my tears with soft words, careful not to touch my burning flesh. Eventually we ended up inside.

A bath, she’d suggested. Too worn out to fight her, I acquiesced, sitting quietly on the toilet seat while she filled the tub with water, the heat turning to curls of steam that quickly fogged the mirror.

"It’s too hot…" I protested.

"I know. It will cool, babe. Just wanted to warm you up a bit. You’re shivering."

"I’m fine. Just still sort of… you know…." I said, blushing, my eyes full of love as I gazed at her sitting on the edge of the tub, still fully clothed.

"Yes, but I made a mess of your back. After we bathe, I’m going to give you a nice rub down and put some ointment on it."

"You didn’t draw blood." I whispered, hating the sound of disappointment in my voice. It was true. The first thing I’d done when we’d come in the bathroom was to check out my backside in the mirror. Although I was covered from thigh to shoulder with a collection of angry looking stripes, none of them had been applied with enough force to break the skin. She’d been careful, holding back as always, never once losing control.

She gave me a hard look at that, knowing what I was thinking, a warning in her eyes not to go any further.

"Maybe next time…?" As soon as the words rolled off my tongue, I knew it had been a mistake. Fortunately, she chose to ignore my remark, simply running the tip of one perfectly manicured nail over the edge of my collar, reminding me wordlessly to abandon myself to my role as kitty girl. I think it was it was the nicest way of telling me to ‘shut the fuck up’ that she could think of without spoiling the mood. This time, I took her cue, closing my eyes and calling up my inner kitten once more, wondering if I should have pointed out how much kitten’s dislike being bathed...

We still have a long road to travel. Anger and hurt and fear still cling to me, clawing at my heart when I least expect it. In the space of three years we have broken up the same number of times, each time because she was becoming too important to me. It was easier to push her away then to live with the fear that she would abandon me. We have both hurt and been hurt, and yet, there somehow, the seed that was planted as we sat at the center of the maze and watched the sun rise over the city that I’d grown to love so much, has taken root amongst the thorns and brambles. Buds have formed that sometimes bloom impossibly, blossoming against all odds, and I have this feeling in my gut that it’s time to start writing a new chapter.

Once upon a time, there was a girl with the heart of a kitten…

and they lived happily ever after. The End.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright ©2010 All Rights Reserved.

©2010 Sprite. The stories linked to this online profile may not be reproduced in any manner, without the express permission of the author.

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